Take Me Back to the Start
by ladycobert
Summary: An injury caused by a carriage accident may well change Cora and Robert's lives forever.
1. I don't even know your name

Late October, 1890

Nearly three days passed after the accident. Cora lay in bed; she had barely woken since she'd been brought upstairs. Robert, his face sporting several bruises and his arm in a sling from where his shoulder had been dislocated, refused to leave her room. As much as she slept, he didn't. His eyes were red-rimmed and his visage haggard. He ate only very little, his time spent alternately sitting by her and holding her hand, watching her sleep, or pacing the length of the room in agitation.

Robert would admit that he was terrified. He and Cora had been married for only a little over two years, but Robert already couldn't imagine life without her. The doctor insisted that she would recover, that she just needed rest. However, Robert couldn't help but feel as if he wouldn't truly breathe again until she woke up and spoke to him. Everything in his chest constricted and the knots in his stomach tightened every time he looked at her pale, beloved face.

As he could not seem to make himself do anything else, Robert thought. He made plans to take Cora to Europe, to bring her to visit her family in Newport. And he remembered. He smiled softly down at her and tucked a dusky curl tenderly behind her ear, remembering the way she blushed when they first met, the way she always felt in his arms when they danced, their arguments over things large and small, trips to London, and trips to the seashore. He recalled their honeymoon and their wedding night, his proposal and their first kiss, her declaration of love to him in the gardens here at Downton – and his, months later, in the sitting room of their Cavendish suite, after he'd finally come to his senses.

And how glad he was that he had. His life had become so much richer because of it. They had a splendid life together.

But it wouldn't be splendid anymore if she didn't wake up.

Robert looked at the clock. The doctor would be round to check on her again in about ten minutes. Wiping tears from his cheeks, Robert bent down and pressed his lips to Cora's forehead. "Please, my love, wake up. Please. You can rest as long as you need, just, please, wake up and speak to me. I need you so much," he murmured, brushing another kiss over her brow, closing his eyes tight against more tears.

Then, as if in a wonderful dream, she began to stir.

Sitting up straight, Robert stared at her, his eyes wide. He pressed her hand, whispering. "Cora, darling, I'm here."

In a few moments, she opened her eyes and then her mouth. "Water," she croaked.

"Yes, of course." He jumped up and released her hand, pouring water from the carafe by her bed into a glass and taking a deep breath. She was awake. He turned to her, realizing that he might need help. "Wait," he said, placing the glass down and going to the door. Her eyes followed him.

Robert stepped into the hallway. He spotted the doctor walking toward him.

"She's awake," Robert called, beckoning with his good arm. "She's asking for water." He smiled as the doctor hastened to the room.

The two gentlemen helped Cora drink the glass of water, then the doctor began examining her.

"What happened?" she asked in a low voice.

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed, his hands beneath the back of Cora's head. She winced. "You were in a carriage accident, Lady Downton. You struck your head, and you've been unconscious for the better part of three days."

Cora blinked at him. "Who?"

Robert looked at her curiously, his brows drawing together.

Then, she said something even more alarming. "Where are Mother and Poppa? They should be here."

The doctor exchanged a glance with Robert. "They're in America, Cora," Robert said hesitantly.

"I don't understand," she said. "And why am I not in a hospital, or my room at home?"

Fear gripped Robert's heart. "You are in your room at home. This is your home, Downton Abbey." He glanced at the doctor, but didn't actually care now if the man knew their – scandalous – sleeping arrangement. "We share this room, this bed, together."

Cora gaped at Robert, and the fear in her eyes left him breathless. "But – how can that be? I don't know you."

Robert's face drained completely of color. He wondered when he would be able to breathe again.

When he thought he could speak again, he took a step forward. "How can you not know me?" He locked eyes with her until, after a moment, she turned her head away, evidently uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze.

Just then, the doctor stepped in front of him, blocking Cora from view. "Lord Downton," he said in a low voice, "might you wait in the other room whilst I finish my examination?"

Robert inclined his head reluctantly. "Yes, of course," he muttered, withdrawing to his dressing room. He paced up and down the length of the room, running his hand through his hair until it stood on end.

A quarter of an hour passed before he heard a knock at the dividing door. Opening it, Robert admitted the doctor. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

The doctor shook his head. "Physically, Lady Downton is well on her way to recovery. A few more days in bed should have her fully restored. But, the other…." He transferred his medical bag from one hand to the other nervously. "Her injury appears to have affected her memory. Some form of amnesia is my guess. She seems to remember everything clearly up until about two and a half years ago, my lord. Up until –"

"Until she met me," Robert finished quietly, dropping heavily into a chair.

"Not exactly. Her ladyship doesn't remember anything at all about making the journey to England."

Robert rubbed his hand over his brow. "Is it permanent?"

The doctor shook his head. "I don't know. The brain is an area of medicine that is still a mystery to us. There are studies I could consult in the journals. I think there is an article on this –"

"Yes, please," Robert interrupted, staring at the man beseechingly. "Find out whatever you can. I implore you."

Nodding, the doctor replied, "I will come back later today, your lordship, once I've found something out. I'll telegram a colleague of mine in London as well. He has more experience in brain disorders and may be able to help. In the meantime, I gave Lady Downton a mild sedative to help her go back to sleep. She needs to continue to rest, but she was quite upset."

Robert nodded, looking down at the carpet disconsolately.

"Lord Downton, I highly recommend that you rest too. It will be a while before she wakes again. I could give you something to help you sleep if you wish."

"No." Robert's head snapped up. "I should be there with her, there when she wakes."

The doctor raised his brows. "I'm not certain that is wise, my lord. It might be better, until I find out more, to have her lady's maid sit with her. Seeing you there might agitate her again."

Robert stood and puffed out his chest. "No. What if all she needs is a little more sleep, and I'm not there when she wakes?" He shook his head emphatically. "No," he repeated, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I will be there beside her when she wakes. I am her husband, whether she remembers that or not."

With that, he quietly slipped into Cora's room, taking up his vigil by her bed once more.

* * *

Robert woke, having fallen asleep in the chair he'd dragged to the side of the bed, his arm across her lower legs. But she wasn't there anymore. Stretching himself and turning in the chair, he saw her at her armoire, rummaging for something.

"I see someone must be feeling better," he addressed to her back, smiling faintly.

Cora spun around, clutching her dressing gown to her front, her eyes wide. "I – I suppose."

Robert's face fell. "But you still don't remember me."

She shook her head slightly before lowering her eyes and turning from him to slip on the dressing gown. She closed the door of the armoire slowly, leaving her hands on the panel.

"I'll ring for your maid, Cora," he mumbled, standing and going around the bed to do this.

"Please, don't call me that."

He looked over to see that she faced him now, her arms wrapped closely around her body. "Call you what?" he inquired, bewilderment bringing his brows together.

"Don't call me Cora. It's too familiar. My name is Miss Levinson," she said, her voice soft, but her tone firm.

"Too familiar…" he murmured, repeating her words and casting his eyes upon the floor, thinking of how familiar everything about her was to him. He fought back tears. "I don't know if I can." He raised his eyes to meet hers across the room. "It's been a very long time since I've had to use that name."

After half a minute, she lowered her eyes, trembling perceptibly. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine. But he didn't know if everything would be fine. And he didn't think she would let him hold her.

Nevertheless he halved the distance between them and stood at the foot of the bed. "I know you must be frightened." He made his voice as soothing as he knew how. "The only thing I care about is making sure you're well and happy." Taking a deep breath, he added, "I'm your husband."

She lifted her head with a slight shake, tears glistening in her eyes. "I don't have a husband. I don't even know your name."

Robert blinked hard against the moisture filling his eyes. "Please, don't say that. I'm Robert – your Robert. And I love you so much it hurts." Unable to stop himself, he closed the distance between them and cupped her cheek with the one hand he could raise, kissing her tenderly.

Cora's mouth tensed against his and her arms pushed at his chest above the sling. Robert pulled away, his eyes wide with astonishment at her livid expression. "How _dare_ you?" she hissed, bringing her hand hard across his cheek in a sharp smack. "I suggest you leave at once before I scream for help." Her voice was hard as steel.

Stumbling backward, Robert placed his right hand awkwardly over his left cheek, gaping at her narrowed eyes. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… I'll leave." He hastened to his dressing room, wrenching open the door and shutting it again behind him before she could see the tears coursing down his face. He leaned heavily back against the door, bowing his head into his hand as his body heaved with unchecked sobs. Robert felt as if his legs might give out beneath him, so he slid down the panel and thumped onto the floor, falling sideways as he curled into a tight ball, feeling as if nothing would ever be right again.


	2. To do what is best

Robert blinked open his eyes a while later, yawning and frowning. As he attempted to shake away the cobwebs of sleep, one phrase kept circling around his mind: _True love's kiss _always _wakes the princess_.

After a moment, he recognized that the phrase was voiced by his father. And he remembered afternoons spent in his and Rosamund's nursery when they were children. Violet did not indulge in fairy tales, and she rarely visited their nursery, but Patrick made it a regular habit. Rosamund would beg him to read to her from her fairy tale books, and, although Robert always protested, he grudgingly listened to them too, secretly impressed by their papa's storytelling skills. His sister would sit there, enraptured, and always asked the same question at the end of a story.

"Why is it a kiss that wakes Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and transforms the Beast back to a Prince?" she inquired.

Patrick bent down close to his daughter and smiled. "Because love – the true kind – is the most powerful magic there is. It changes things, wakes them up. It makes people see past everything else – the Beast isn't transformed; her way of seeing him is. And love is symbolized by a kiss." Here he would kiss her forehead. "True love's kiss _always_ wakes the princess."

Robert held his head in his hand. "No, not always," he mumbled to himself. Not that he'd ever really believed in fairy tales.

Unfolding his body, he stood, realizing it was nearly time for the dressing gong. He wondered if Cora would feel like coming down to dinner. He turned and raised his hand to open the door, not wanting to wake her if she slept, but he paused, staring at the panel. Clenching his hand into a fist, he closed his eyes and rapped his knuckles upon the door.

The last thing he expected was for her to come to the door. She stood there in front of him, her body rigid and her chin raised defiantly, as if challenging him to try to touch her again. "Yes?"

No light shone from her eyes, and Robert's heart gave a painful lurch. "I simply wondered, Miss Levinson," he said, trying to do as she requested, "if you were going down for dinner tonight." He knew he looked frightful with his hair disheveled and his suit wrinkled, and hated that he even thought about that when it was her – his Cora – standing over the threshold from him, but he recognized he was a stranger to her and that she might care.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her face still set stubbornly. "I'm supposed to be resting in my room, Mr. Crawley. At least, that is what the doctor told me."

"Please, I wish you would call me Robert." He knew his visage must be as pathetic as he felt.

Cora's blue eyes flashed. "I won't. I may be American, but I do know proper manners."

Robert drew himself up straighter, endeavoring to appear indifferent. _Fine, _he thought. _If that's how she wants it, that's how it will be._ "It's Lord Downton, actually, then 'my lord.' You are properly Lady Downton, but I won't insist upon calling you that since you don't remember." The dressing gong sounded. "I will be going down to dinner tonight, as I haven't had a full meal since our accident, and I don't think you appreciate my company right now. I'll make sure Banks brings a tray to you, as you haven't had a meal in as long. I'll bid you goodnight, Miss Levinson."

Her face contorted with bafflement at the sudden alteration in his attitude toward her. "Goodnight, Lord Downton," she said with a slight nod before quietly closing the door.

Exhaling deeply, Robert did his best to compose himself before Masterman would show to dress him for dinner. He did not feel like going to dinner, but he could not stay here either. Not like this.

Patrick smiled wearily at his son when he entered the library. Getting out of his chair, he came over to clap Robert on the back. "It's nice to have you join us, son. Scotch?"

"Yes, please, Papa." He passed his hand over his forehead as his father went to pour it.

"Your mother will be along in a bit. She had a new dress arrive today that she ordered weeks ago, and she couldn't wait to wear it. So, of course, Kendrick is going to have a time learning exactly how Violet wants it arranged." He handed Robert the drink.

Robert nodded vaguely, downing half the drink in one gulp.

"Robert?" Patrick asked hesitantly. "Do you – I mean, one of your bruises – the one on your left cheek? I don't remember that one."

Draining the rest of the glass, Robert raised his eyebrows and looked at his father. "That's because it wasn't there until a few hours ago. Cora struck me," he said matter-of-factly.

Patrick opened and closed his mouth several times before sputtering, "Why would she do that?"

Walking over to the drinks cabinet, Robert poured himself a second Scotch and countered with a question of his own. "What did the doctor tell you when he came downstairs, Papa?" He took another drink, staring at the wall over the cabinet.

"Well, that she had wakened and seemed on the road to recovery. Apart from a little memory loss."

Robert turned, tapping the edge of the glass with his forefinger, one of his brows raised. He fastened his eyes upon his father's deep brown ones, which were now all concern. "Yes. Her memory loss is me. Our life here together. She remembers nothing of the past two and a half years, nothing of England or Downton or us. Of me. I knew this, and I tried to kiss her, and she, very rightly, slapped me."

"Oh, son, no." Patrick sighed. "What's to be done?"

Shrugging, Robert nursed his drink, his eyes lowering to the amber liquid. "I don't know. The doctor is supposed to return sometime this evening to tell me what he finds out. The condition isn't very familiar to him."

Patrick finished his Scotch and put the glass on the table beside him. "Are you alright, Robert?" he inquired in a low voice.

"No. No, I'm not alright." He had a large swallow of the alcohol and then continued to peer into the glass, avoiding his father's eyes. He knew if he saw his papa's sympathy, it would be too much and he would break down in the middle of the library. "I thought that if she woke up, everything would be fine." He shook his head. "Nothing is fine. Instead, everything is wrong."

"Robert, the doctor may have good news. Don't despair yet."

He understood his papa's motives, but Robert couldn't help his frustration. His eyes snapped up. "Papa, Cora struck me!" he snarled. "My own wife, the woman I love more than life itself. I kissed her, and she struck me! She doesn't know me! How am I supposed to keep from despair?" He panted with anger and with the effort of keeping back tears.

Patrick's eyes softened. He recognized his son's pain and remained silent.

Throwing back the rest of his whiskey, Robert set the glass down on the cabinet and drew his hand over his eyes, wiping the moisture away as best he could. "Perhaps it was a bad idea to come down to dinner," he said in a much calmer voice.

"No, I think it was good. Son, I can take your exasperation, and perhaps it needs to be expressed. Now, you may want to withhold it from your mother…." He raised an eyebrow.

Robert nodded seriously. "Yes, I know."

"You know to withhold what, Robert?" came his mother's voice from the doorway.

Patrick gave his son a small wink before approaching his wife with a smile. "Don't worry about that, darling. Don't you look beautiful tonight! The dress suits you perfectly." He kissed Violet's cheek, causing her to smile back.

Passing a hand over his eyes once more, Robert turned to pour another drink. His parents' happiness shouldn't have added to his misery, but it did. How he longed for Cora to sashay through the door in a new dress – or an old favorite – and look at him the way his mother looked at his father just then. He could feel his heart breaking all over again.

Dinner was a largely quiet affair. Violet and Patrick exchanged endearments in low voices, and Robert avoided their glances, applying himself to his meal, surprised to be as hungry as he'd told Cora earlier.

After Robert and Patrick shared a silent smoke - Robert a cigar and Patrick his pipe - in the dining room, Violet having gone through, the three reconvened in the drawing room, Robert requesting the footman to bring him something stronger than tea. He brought a tray with two Scotches within a few moments, Patrick's Scotch being a customary postprandial beverage in the drawing room.

Robert had gotten halfway through his drink when the butler entered the room. "The doctor is here, Lord Grantham. May I show him in?"

"Yes, yes, please, Thompson." Patrick stood, ignoring Violet's perplexed countenance and "But, Patrick!"

The doctor entered, bowing slightly to the three Crawleys. "Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham, Lord Downton, allow me to apologize for the late hour of my visit, but I did give my word to Lord Downton that I would report back today with any news on Lady Downton's condition."

Violet sputtered, "What condition? What's going on – Patrick? Robert?"

They continued to ignore her. "Please, come in and sit down, doctor. Might you have a drink?" Patrick indicated a chair.

The doctor waved a hand dismissively as he sat. "No, thank you, my lord. I simply want to report my findings."

Robert cleared his throat. "Yes, I'd like to know what you've found, doctor."

Extricating a sheaf of notes from his medical bag, the doctor straightened his tie and consulted them before raising his eyes to Robert. "From what I can ascertain, Lady Downton suffers from a form of amnesia that surrounds certain events. She cannot remember coming to England or getting married. I do not know why, but I do know that trying to force her into memories she does not have will not work. She will react negatively to any such attempts."

Unable to contain a snort, Robert had another sip of his drink, thinking of how Cora had slapped him.

"What is this?" Violet asked.

Patrick took her hand. "Violet, when Cora woke today, she didn't know Robert. She couldn't remember anything of coming to England."

Violet's eyes widened. "Nothing?"

Shaking his head, Patrick turned to the doctor. "Please continue."

"There is a good chance that Lady Downton will fully recover from this, but it may take a good deal of time. Right now, she's probably resisting her circumstances, and it may be that the best way to help her recover her memories would be to remove her to more familiar surroundings." He paused.

Robert nearly choked on his Scotch. "Do you mean take her back to America?" He stared at the doctor.

"Short of bringing her parents here –"

"But they're on their way now," Violet piped up.

"What?" Robert and Patrick rounded on her together.

Violet shrugged. "There was a telegram this morning, in response to ours about the accident and Cora's condition at the time. Mr. Levinson and _that woman_ boarded the first ship into Liverpool. They should be here within a week and a half."

Robert, impetuously, left his Scotch on a table and went to give a one-armed hug to his mother.

"Robert! I beg you will leave off such a display this instant!" she shrieked.

He backed away, but his eyes held the first hint of sparkle they'd had in days. "But, Mama, that's such brilliant news. I can't have her going to America. She still needs rest, and if she goes, she – she might not –" Robert couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't even want to utter the words – that she might not recover her memory and want to come home to him again. The last thing he wanted was for her to leave the country.

The doctor had followed this conversation with some fascination. "Now, Lord Downton, having her parents here will help, but, I repeat, you cannot insist upon any memories that she does not have. Including yourself. I know this is difficult, my lord, but she honestly has no recollection of her life here. As such, she will be most likely afraid and distrustful. It might be different if she woke up in America, but, here…." He shrugged. "I'm sorry I cannot be more precise. All I can recommend is that you make her feel as comfortable as possible. Only under these circumstances have the patients in the case studies recovered fully."

"I understand, doctor." Robert nodded. He heaved a sad sigh. "There's nothing you can give her – a medicine or a tonic?" He grasped at anything at this point.

"No, I'm sorry, my lord," the doctor said. "She has to come back on her own."

"Is it certain that she will?" Patrick queried.

The doctor studied him a few seconds before shaking his head. "No. There is a chance she'll never remember the past two years."

Robert's head dropped onto his chest. He wasn't certain he could bear this.

"Thank you, doctor," Patrick said softly, glancing toward his son.

The man stood, preparing to depart. "Please call upon me whenever you need. But, my best advice, from what I've read, is to take her lead. If she insists upon something, even if it isn't true, believe her. Otherwise, she'll simply continue to resist the memories that lie beneath the surface. They aren't gone – at least, I don't believe they are. But they'll take a while for her to recall again."

Robert stepped forward, wringing the doctor's hand. "Thank you, truly. We'll try to abide by what you've said."

The doctor nodded and left.

Violet opened her mouth, but Patrick lifted his hand. "I beg you won't say a word, Violet, unless it is good news."

Scowling at him slightly, Violet spoke anyway. "I just want to know what is happening. Cora has amnesia?"

Robert nodded. "Yes." He couldn't seem to utter anything further.

"Well, we have to make sure the Levinsons know as soon as they get here," she said.

Patrick took her hand. "We do, but we can't let them take her away again." He glanced at his son.

"Of course not!" Violet expostulated. "But, from what the doctor said, perhaps they can take her to London. They can use Grantham House. Might that be a neutral space, if none of us are there?"

Robert's head snapped up. "Oh, Mama, that's excellent!" He took a deep breath. "Not that I want her to be away from Downton, but that's much better than going to America. And we met in London – perhaps it will help her memory." He beamed at his mother.

She glared at him. "Stop that, Robert. I am trying to do what is best for everyone – what the doctor said would be best."

"And I thank you for it, Mama." He came over and lifted her hand to kiss the back of her glove warmly.

Violet huffed. "It is no secret to either of you that I am not Cora's greatest supporter. But we could have lost you both in that accident. We didn't; however, if Cora doesn't regain her memory, we may as well have lost _her_." Just as Robert was marveling over this unlikely speech, his mother pursed her lips and added, "Besides, I won't hear of spending two years preparing your wife to be the Countess of Grantham only to have it go to waste. It would be extremely vexing."

Robert surprised even himself with a chuckle. "Mama, you are incorrigible."

* * *

Having instructed Thompson to inform the servants that they were to address Lady Downton as "Miss Levinson" for the foreseeable future, Robert ascended the stairs, exhausted and in a considerable state of mental turmoil. He felt as if he were in a nightmare from which he longed to wake.

He wasn't prepared to arrive at his door to the sound of his wife's raised voice. His instincts taking over, he flew through his dressing room and jerked open the dividing door with an apprehensive "Cora?"

"What are you doing?" she squawked, her eyes wide and the flush already present upon her face deepening. She stood stark naked in front of her lady's maid who held up a fresh nightdress. Cora snatched the garment from her and shielded herself with it.

Robert's mouth fell open, but no words came out. He spun around upon his heel and faced the opposite wall. "I heard you shouting, Cor– er, Miss Levinson, and I wanted to make sure you were alright." He heard the rustling of linen and cotton behind him, followed by the sliding of silk against these.

"As noble as that may be, Lord Downton, I request that next time you knock instead of bursting into my room." Her annoyed tone made him flinch.

Looking down at the floor now, he said, "I beg your pardon." He paused, then asked, "Why were you yelling?"

"Because, this _person _refuses to call me by the name I asked her to. She insists upon this ladyship nonsense." The swish of silk against silk accompanied the staccato of her voice, indicating that she was tying her dressing gown closed in great frustration. This operation, which Robert had seen often, when she was put out with him, might have made him smile if her words didn't weigh so heavily upon him.

He sighed and turned around slowly, not wanting to alarm her. "Banks, might I have a word?" Pointing to his dressing room door with his free hand, he followed the woman into the room, stopping briefly to say to his wife, "I'll have your maid returned to you in a few moments to dress your hair and take your tray." His eyes flickered to the tray, relieved to see that she had eaten _something_, if not the entire meal.

Banks stood in wait as he closed the door. She was not used to being confused by her mistress.

Robert explained to her in a low voice, "I know she summoned you before Thompson had a chance to tell you, but Lady Downton has some memory loss. In fact, she doesn't remember moving to England or marrying me." He rubbed his eyes before fixing them upon the maid again. "The doctor said she should be recovered physically with a few days of rest, but he isn't sure when – or if – she'll get her memory back." He swallowed hard, hating that he had to use the word "if." "Banks, I am counting on you to help me here. We have to make her ladyship as comfortable as possible, to keep her from being anxious or frightened. Please do as she asks and don't make her upset. If she says something strange, don't question her. And if you need any help – any at all – or think something is _very_ strange, come to me." He remembered the immediate reason for pulling her aside. "And do call her 'Miss Levinson,' not Lady Downton, or my lady, or ladyship, or anything like that. Just until all this passes."

The maid's impassive stare remained firmly in place throughout this speech. Robert knew that one of the reasons Cora liked Banks was because the woman was virtually unflappable. "Yes, my lord. I understand."

"Thank you, Banks. You can go back to helping her get ready for bed."

After Banks left, Robert slumped down onto the small bed. He glanced around, hating that he would have to sleep in his dressing room, for there was no way Cora would let him sleep with her. He picked up a large framed photograph from his bedside table. One of their wedding portraits. It had been a happy day for them both. Despite Robert's feelings for Cora being unrealized at that time, he'd known then just as strongly as he knew now that marrying her had been the best decision he'd ever made.

He wouldn't let her go without a fight. And if it meant he had to suppress his feelings for Cora, then he would do his level best to do just that. But it wouldn't be easy. Once he'd told her he loved her over a year ago, he had never had to hold back – and had never wanted to. But now….

Setting down the frame, Robert rose, judging that enough time had passed for Banks to have finished with Cora. He tapped lightly upon the dividing door. "Miss Levinson," he called out, the name tasting sour on his tongue, "I'd like to speak to you, if you don't mind."

After a short wait, he heard her say, "Come in."

Cora sat up in bed, pillows behind her back, her dressing gown tightly closed and her arms crossed over herself, frowning. Robert kept his hand on the doorknob, endeavoring to put her more at ease. "I wanted to apologize again for walking in earlier. I should have knocked."

She appeared to think about this a minute, studying his expression. "Apology accepted."

Robert took a deep breath before continuing, "And I would like to apologize for, well, for the kiss." He didn't offer any explanation, just the apology.

Cora nodded. "I accept that one as well." Then she uncrossed her arms, placing her hands down at her lap and looking at them. "I am sorry for slapping you."

His breath caught in his throat. "No," he said softly. "You were right to slap me. I took a liberty. I – I deserved it." He bowed his head.

"If what you say is true, Lord Downton, then I do understand why." Her voice was as calm as he'd heard it since she'd woken earlier. He raised his head, meeting her cornflower blue eyes. She went on. "But I'm not sure you understand how I feel right now. It's as if I've been kidnapped and given a new name. I recognize some of my own things here – some of my clothes, jewelry, books, things that would be in my room at home." She cleared her throat, and Robert knew a lump had risen there. "But I don't recognize anyone, this place. I'm told I'm married and that I'm an ocean away from my home, my family. It's overwhelming." She cast her eyes down again. "Quite overwhelming," she whispered.

The urge to go to her, to comfort her became strong within him, but he grasped the doorknob as if for life. Struggling against his own swelling emotions, Robert said, "Yes, for you – and for me. The woman I have loved and lived with and shared everything with for two years sits across the room from me, but I am a stranger to her. I have to fight my own impulse to do what I always do when she is in distress – to take her in my arms and soothe her. I want to do that, with every fiber of my being, but I can't. And it breaks my heart." His eyes glistened with tears.

Cora lifted her head, inhaling deeply, her face streaked with her own tears. "I'm so sorry." She shook her head slowly. "I don't know what to say."

Robert released the doorknob, taking a few steps into the dressing room and picking up their wedding photo. He walked over to her bedside and offered her the frame. She took it, examining it in the light of the oil lamp, her eyes widening in disbelief. "There are probably letters, too, somewhere in here; I don't know where you keep them because you like to keep them safe with other letters, from other friends, your family. They are your sacred things, and I do not pry into things you like to have to yourself. You don't keep very much from me anyway, and everyone needs their secrets and privacy." Cora looked up at him. "The doctor said that you would probably resist things you don't remember, and I understand that. But, please, just say you won't resist too hard. I love my wife, very much, and I want her back." His face became wet with falling tears as well.

Without waiting for an answer, Robert turned and went back to the doorway. Then he remembered something. Spinning around, he noticed that her eyes had followed him. "Oh, and your parents are on their way here from Newport. They should arrive within a week and a half. They started out as soon as they got the telegram about the accident."

Cora nodded at him, her cheeks pink and shining as her tears continued to fall. She clutched the frame in her hands.

Blinking his eyes against more tears, he put his hand on the doorknob once more. "Goodnight, Miss Levinson. Sleep well." Robert closed the door silently, his heart remaining in the room behind him.


	3. Please, let me go

For several days, Cora stayed in her room. She read and she slept. She ate very little.

Robert left her largely to herself. He requested his mother and father not to disturb her, and the only other people who saw his wife were Banks and the doctor. The effort it cost Robert to stay away was enormous, but his desire not to upset her outweighed his own need to see her. He visited her for a short time each day, to see how she was recovering and to make sure she was as comfortable as possible and had everything she needed.

On the first day, Cora silently handed the photograph back to him. He didn't ask why, and he didn't insist she keep it. He just took it back and thought to himself how lovely she looked in her yellow tea gown. It was one that Banks had had to mend after Robert had ripped it. He did his best to stop his thoughts there. The ripped gown was a particularly pleasant memory that would be far too painful at that moment. After a bland exchange, Robert left her, returning the photograph to his dressing table and gazing at it for a long time before turning and looking out the window, unable to quiet his mind.

When Robert visited the next afternoon, Cora requested that he bring her some books, as she'd finished the two she had in the room with her. He nodded and excused himself to do as she bid.

A little later he returned with three books. "I thought you would like something familiar. These are yours, and I know they're –"

" – my favorites," she finished, taking them and gazing at him in slight awe. She placed them behind her on the dressing table, where her wedding rings sat.

Robert pointed to them. "You took off your rings."

Cora squared her jaw stubbornly. "Yes. They aren't mine."

With those words, Robert felt that she might as well have struck him again. However, he took a deep breath and asked as calmly as he could, "Might I keep them, then? The engagement ring was my great-grandmother's you see. They're very special to me."

Without speaking, Cora reached around and plucked the rings off the table. Robert's palm tingled when her fingers touched his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Miss Levinson. I'll leave you to your books. Let me know if you need anything else," he mumbled, hurrying from the room so she wouldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes.

The next morning – as he'd done the past two mornings – Robert conferred with Banks, who had nothing new to tell him about Cora's behavior. She read; she slept; she ate. Cora had learned early on that Banks wasn't much of a confidante, so she wasn't particularly chatty with her even before the accident, but the maid reported that her mistress' interactions with her had a reticence that had never been there before.

Robert nodded as Banks told him that there'd been no change. Then, uncharacteristically, Banks fidgeted a bit.

"Banks? Is there something else I need to know?" He tilted his head at her.

"I'm not sure it's my place, my lord." Banks shook her head and wrung her hands in front of her.

Robert smiled at her slightly to reassure her. "These are extreme circumstances, Banks. I know you want to do your duty to her ladyship, but if there is something you think I should know, then please tell me."

The maid stilled her hands, appearing to relax somewhat. "It's just that she usually tells you herself, but she wouldn't know to tell you this time, Lord Downton." She gave him a meaningful look.

He drew his brows together in confusion, trying to work out what she meant. Then he remembered what week of the month it was, and his brow cleared, his baffled expression replaced by one of disappointment. "Oh. Yes. So, she's not…?"

Banks shook her head conclusively.

Robert sighed. "Well, it's probably for the best anyway. I'm not sure that would be news that would help the situation." He passed his hand over his face wearily, then looked at Banks. "You may go now. Thank you, Banks. I'll check in on her this afternoon."

"Yes, my lord," she said, inclining her head before exiting the room.

"Oh, my darling wife," he whispered once he was alone again. "I just want you to come back to me." Robert felt through his shirt for her rings. He'd put them on a chain and now wore them around his neck to keep them safe and close to his heart – ready whenever she might be willing to wear them again. _If _she might be willing to wear them again.

Robert closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't think that way. They would get through this. Somehow.

When Robert visited her that afternoon, before he had even gotten fully into the room, Cora held up a small cream-colored bit of paper and waved it at him. "What is this?"

Moving closer, he examined it a few seconds. "It looks like a dance card."

"Yes, Lord Downton, I know what a dance card is," she said in exasperation, rolling her eyes. "What I don't know is why it is in my volume of _Pride and Prejudice_."

"May I?" he asked, extending his hand toward the card. She handed it to him, and Robert read the names scribbled in her handwriting, a single line marked through each. Then he began to laugh in spite of himself. "I had no idea you'd kept this," he said in fascination. He dropped into a chair, still staring at the card.

"I don't see what is humorous about it – or why I would have kept such a thing. How absurd to have the name 'Prince Charming' for one of the dancers! What could I have been thinking?" She shook her head, bewildered.

This sobered Robert quickly. He cleared his throat gingerly and glanced up at her. "You kept it because it was from the first night we spent time together. The first night we danced together."

She pointed toward the card. "But your name isn't on there."

"No, it isn't," he conceded with a tiny smile. "Nevertheless, we did dance." He trained his eyes upon hers until she turned her head away, looking at the floor. He sighed inwardly. He thought about telling her more, but he didn't think it would do any good, so he kept quiet about it. Instead he asked, "How have you felt today, Miss Levinson?"

Cora shrugged. "I suppose I'm fine. The doctor told me this morning that I seemed fully recovered."

"I'm happy to hear that." Robert nodded and stood. "I'll leave you to rest. Unless you need anything else from me."

"I thought that maybe – " Cora took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. "I thought maybe I would dress for dinner tonight."

"You – you did? I didn't think you would want to. I mean, my parents…." He trailed off.

Clasping her hands together in her lap, Cora said, "I realize there will be more people I don't know. But, to be honest, I'm going a trifle mad, having been enclosed in this room for so many days." She put up a hand to silence him as he opened his mouth to protest. "I know you told me I could leave the room, but I needed the time to myself, and I _was_ attempting to follow the doctor's orders. But now that I'm recovered, I would like to venture out." She lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "I have permission to do that, don't I, my lord?"

Robert felt a stab of anger. It was as if she were baiting him. And he didn't deserve it. Bracing himself in an effort to control his temper, his words came out harsher than he meant. "Of course you do, Miss Levinson. Lord and Lady Grantham and I will expect you for dinner then. We convene in the library for drinks before the meal. In the meantime, good day, miss." He spun on his heel and marched out.

Once in the relative shelter of his dressing room, he realized that, in his agitated state, he'd forgotten that she would not know where the library was, and that the polite thing would have been to offer to accompany her to dinner. He knew he shouldn't be provoked by her behavior, but he couldn't seem to help it. His frustration and pain conspired against him and, in this case at least, caused him to behave like an ass.

Muttering to himself, he glanced down at his hand. He still held the dance card. Clapping it down upon his bedside table, he scowled at it. "She probably wouldn't have let me accompany her anyway," he mumbled. Then he departed to find his mother and tell her they'd be four for dinner that night.

* * *

When Cora swept into the library, a footman having shown her the way, Robert caught his breath in a sharp gasp. He stood with his father at her entrance, but when Patrick went forward to greet his daughter-in-law, Robert found he couldn't move. Why – _why_ – would she choose to wear those things tonight?

He realized she couldn't know the significance of the items, but still felt the dagger in his heart to see them and know they didn't mean the same to her as they had before, the same as they meant to him.

Robert needed more Scotch.

As he turned to refill his glass, he listened to his father and Cora behind him.

"Miss Levinson, it's so wonderful to see you up and about again. You look lovely tonight. I'm Robert's father, Lord Grantham. Lady Grantham should be here in a little while. Might I pour you something?" Patrick kept his tone light, and Robert was grateful for that.

"Perhaps a small sherry, Lord Grantham?"

Robert faced them again in time to see his father pat her hand and approach the drinks cabinet, smiling at his son. Cora glanced around the room, taking in her surroundings.

She trembled.

He'd seen her tremble thus before. His heart constricted to think of how she had put on a brave face in front of the crowds during the Season, before they'd formally met. And Robert, watching the beautiful and foreign Miss Levinson from across those ballrooms, saw how she trembled when no one else was around, when she thought no one else noticed her. Now, as then, it made him want to reassure her.

Leaning toward his father, Robert whispered to him, "Papa, let me take Cora her drink, please."

Giving him a curious look, Patrick nodded. "Is everything alright?"

Putting his own drink down and taking the sherry his papa handed him, he replied, "She's unnerved. I doubt she would admit it, but I know her."

"We'll do our best to make her feel welcome, son."

"You will, Papa, but I still have my doubts about Mama." Robert left his father with a raise of his eyebrows, then sidled up to Cora.

She turned from studying the various paintings in the room and met his eyes with the barest hint of a smile. Even that hint caused Robert's heart to jump. "Thank you," she said, accepting the sherry from him.

"You're welcome, Miss Levinson." He looked down at his arm in its sling and then back up. "I hope I wasn't too brusque before. I realize I should have offered to walk with you downstairs."

"No, it's alright, Lord Downton." She had a small sip of the sherry. "I know I was rather rude to you, so I suppose we're even."

Robert nodded, taking a deep breath. "Might I ask why you choose those earrings and that scarf particularly?"

At his question Cora drew her brows together. "Is – is there something wrong with my wearing them?"

The note of panic in her voice had Robert wishing he hadn't said anything. "No, no of course not. It's just…." He sighed. "There are quite a few stories attached to those items. And I was surprised that you would wear them."

Cora ran a hand over the emerald green silk scarf tied into a sash at her waist, then touched her fingers to the emerald scarab earrings. "I didn't realize. I just saw them, and, well, they're very beautiful, and Banks assured me that they belong to me. They do belong to me, don't they?" Her voice began to shake, her eyes widening with apprehension.

"Yes," he hastened to assure her. "Yes, they are yours. The earrings were a gift – a sort of Valentine's Day gift, I suppose – from me, and my sister gave you the scarf. Actually, the present was twelve silk scarves, but this one became your favorite." He stopped himself from adding "and mine."

Her face brightened a trifle. "You have a sister? I have a brother, Harold."

Robert felt a twinge in his gut. But he answered her, endeavoring to follow the doctor's instructions. "Yes, I have a sister. Rosamund – well, Lady Rosamund who is now married to Mr. Marmaduke Painswick. They live in London."

"I'd like to go to London one day," she said, just as Violet sauntered into the room.

Robert and Cora looked toward her, Patrick rising from his seat and kissing her cheek. "Violet, you look very pretty this evening."

"Thank you, Patrick." Violet fastened her eyes upon Cora. "And you'll get to go to London very soon, Miss Levinson." She twisted her head a bit, shooting Robert an annoyed look. "Didn't you tell her, Robert?"

Cora looked between the two, her forehead puckering. "What didn't you tell me, my lord?"

"Well," Violet said, "you could tell her now."

Robert didn't want to. He had the deepest sense of foreboding about the whole thing. But if he didn't, he knew his mother would. "We thought that the best way to help put you at ease, Miss Levinson, would be to have you stay with your parents in our house in London. When they get here, that is. We would stay here and give you some time, let you be with people you remember."

Cora's face lit up in the first real smile Robert had seen since before the accident. "I would like that very much."

"Good. That's settled then." Not bothering with a proper greeting to her daughter-in-law, Violet left them and went to sit on a chair. Patrick followed, going to the drinks cabinet to pour her a pre-prandial drink.

Sipping the last of her sherry, Cora lifted her eyes to Robert, her smile still very much in evidence. "I – perhaps, well…." Some of the light faded from her face. She slowly twirled the stem of the empty sherry glass between her fingers, back and forth, gazing down at it. "No, I shouldn't ask that."

Robert wanted to grant her anything that would make her more comfortable – that might bring the smile back to her face. "Please ask it, Miss Levinson. I don't want you to be afraid to ask whatever you wish."

She locked her eyes with his. "I wondered if I could go to London before my parents get there. I could stay in the house with Banks until they arrive."

His stomach gave a violent lurch. "You want to stay in London? Alone?" Robert's face drained of color.

"Please, don't look at me that way," she whispered. "I knew you wouldn't like it, but I'd much rather be alone. My mind is in knots, Lord Downton, and I can't make sense of anything. Please, let me go."

Robert closed his eyes slowly, endeavoring to catch his breath. "I can't stop you," he said softly. "And you don't need my permission. I'll make the arrangements for the house to be opened early for you." He opened his eyes again, focusing them on hers. "Are you certain you wouldn't want me to stay there with you? Or at least let me go with you and get you settled?"

She shook her head. "I – I can't. I'm still so confused. Please, let me go alone. Banks will be with me. You trust her, don't you?"

"Of course I do. And I trust you." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Cora shrugged her shoulders a bit with another shake of her head. "You've no reason to trust me. I don't remember who I was – who the person was in which you put your trust. I am not her."

Robert simply blinked at her, unsure if he could speak. After a moment, he managed to murmur, "You are to me. But if you feel you need to leave, to be alone, I will respect your wishes. I'll make all the arrangements tomorrow. You can be on the evening train." She lowered her eyes, and he knew that she recognized how hurt he was. She felt guilty for it, in spite of everything else. And, suddenly, he needed air. "Excuse me, Cor– er, Miss Levinson, I just…."

He hurried from the room, down the hall, out the front door when Thompson held it open for him, into the dark and chill of the night. He stood there, tilting his head back and gulping deeply, frantically trying to breathe and swallow the lump in his throat and calm his rapid heartbeat all at once. Fighting vehemently against tears, he blinked up at the stars that shined remarkably clear in the inky black sky. It reminded him of nights spent stargazing on remote areas of the estate with his wife.

Taking a deep breath, Robert found himself calming down finally. He exhaled unhurriedly, watching his warm breath rise on the cold air. She could leave, go to London, but he did trust in her, trusted in their bond, and trusted that somehow, someway, she'd return to him. He knew he had to let her go. At least for now. Either way, as nights spent stargazing together – wrapped in a blanket, sipping wine and holding hands, sharing kisses – had taught him, they were tied to one another.

He would trust in that.

Considerably calmer, Robert went back into the house, back into the library, his cheeks flushed from the cold. His father pulled him into a corner and asked him if he was alright.

"Cora told us that she wants to go to London early, alone. Will you let her?" Patrick fixed an inquiring stare upon his son.

"Papa, I cannot stop her. She is an adult, and she's taking Banks with her. I won't keep her here if it makes her feel uncomfortable. I love her, and I still want to do everything in my power to help her be happy. If this is what she wants, then this is what she'll have." He rubbed his hand over his forehead.

Patrick took a deep breath. "Aren't you afraid she'll –"

"I beg you not to finish that sentence. Certainly, I'm afraid to let her go; who in their right mind wouldn't be? But I can't let that fear keep me from doing what is best – according to what the doctor told us. Remember? He told us to follow her lead. This is what she wants." Robert watched his father nod. "I'll take care of everything, tomorrow, Papa. If she'll let me, I'll ride with her to the station and make sure she gets safely onto the train. After that – it's out of my hands."

"I understand, son." Patrick put a hand on his good arm. "On the bright side, your mother seems to have put Cora more at ease." He inclined his head to where they were, indeed, chatting together, Cora looking almost relaxed.

Robert gaped. "How?"

Patrick shrugged. "Well, she asked Cora about her family, about her life in America. And she started to open up a bit. In fact, I don't think Violet has ever asked so many questions about Cora's life before. She may not know us, but your mother, at least, will know Cora a lot better after this." He chuckled lightly.

Shaking his head in amazement, Robert muttered, "Will wonders never cease?"

Thompson stood in the door way and announced dinner. Patrick patted his son on the back as he started toward the dining room. "In this case, Robert, let's hope they don't. Cora's part of our family now, and she belongs here. She just doesn't remember it."

* * *

Robert went up to bed before the others. He had some letters to write, and, to be honest, the evening had left him exhausted. All through dinner, he stayed quiet and avoided looking at his wife – his gorgeous wife in her scarab earrings and green scarf, who had no idea just how she could entrance him with the simplest of looks. He thought that he should be gazing at her, memorizing her. Just in case.

But, the truth was, he already had her memorized.

Furthermore, he didn't want to cause her any discomfort by staring. So he studied his food, picking at it, and doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip.

A little before midnight, he put down his pen and rubbed his eyes sleepily. He yawned, closing his mouth shut with a snap when he heard the low knock at the dividing door. Standing, he walked to the door, checking that his dressing gown was securely around him before opening it.

"Oh," Cora let out, taking in his state of undress. "I saw your light under the door. I didn't mean to intrude."

He rubbed his eyes again and shook his head. "You aren't. I was just about to go to sleep. Did you need something?"

She seemed nervous. "I wanted to thank you, Lord Downton. You didn't speak to me after – well, after you left in a hurry, and I know what I said upset you. I hope you know that wasn't my intention. Despite what I know is also a very difficult situation for you, you've been very kind to me, and I appreciate it. You've probably been kinder than my behavior has deserved." She cast her eyes down upon her bedroom slippers.

"Don't say that, Miss Levinson. You are frightened and confused, and I do understand that. I haven't known exactly how to handle it myself, and I can't expect you to. Perhaps it is better that you go. That way I can't distress you further. It's the last thing I want to do." He paused. "As much as I wish you would let me go with you, I do know why you won't. But at least let me ride with you to the train station. I want to make sure you get safely on board. Please." He watched her raise her eyes again to his. She nodded slowly.

"Yes, I suppose I can agree to that. I – I am grateful to you for letting me do this. I know you don't want me to." Her eyes glittered with tears.

"No, I don't. But I have to let you. Perhaps you will realize there what you haven't realized here. Perhaps you can't figure out what you are missing until it is missed." She seemed to have no answer to this, just stared at him intently. "Well," he said eventually, "we both need to get some sleep. It's been a long day, and tomorrow is another."

"Yes," she conceded. "Goodnight, my lord."

"Goodnight, Miss Levinson."

She closed the door, and Robert turned down the lamp, settling into bed. But it was a long time before he could sleep.

* * *

The day went by in a haze as Robert made the requisite arrangements for Cora's – and later the other Levinsons' – stay at Grantham House. He sent telegrams and went to the train station to make sure of Cora's ticket that evening. He had a serious discussion with Banks, entrusting her with his wife's health and well-being – and with several letters. One would go to the butler, instructing him to inform the staff about Cora's condition, what that meant for their behavior toward her, and how they were to address her. One missive, a much longer one, would also go to the butler, but he would keep this aside to give to the driver. The driver would then hand this to the Levinsons the moment they stepped off the train.

Robert gave her instructions that the final letter must be sent via courier to his sister in Eaton Square as soon as possible. This epistle was the most personal one, Robert needing to tell someone how he felt, what was going through his head; the person he would normally tell was Cora. Writing the letter had been cathartic, and he knew Rosamund would know exactly how to respond to him. For he'd ended the long and rambling missive with the worst part – and a question:

_America would certainly have been worse, and we'd planned to send her to London when her parents arrived anyway, but you can't know how it hurt – as if she'd delivered a physical blow – when she told me she wanted to go right away. That my presence is that disconcerting to her makes me ache, Rosamund._

_I think I finally know, at least in part, what she went through when we were first married. I long to be with her, or to be near her if I can't be with her. I love her more than I ever knew one person could love another, and I feel as if I cannot breathe without her. Rosamund, what do I do?_

Banks guaranteed that she'd do as he asked, and she tucked the letters safely in her pocket before returning to the packing.

When the time came, Robert silently walked with his wife down the stairs and out the door. Cora turned and stood a long moment, gazing at the house in the light cast by the setting sun.

"My, it's very grand, isn't it?" she observed.

Robert handed her into the carriage, remembering the last time they'd both been in a carriage and flinching. He pulled himself in as gracefully as possible by one arm. They sat on opposite sides of the carriage.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Then, as they neared the station, Robert said, "Your parents should be in London in about a week."

"Yes," she replied, nodding. She looked out the window again.

Robert gazed at her, the way the feathers on her hat curled around her face, brushing her cheek – something he longed to do himself. He lowered his eyes to where his hand rested in his lap, sighing.

When they arrived at the station, he got out and helped her out as well, holding onto her hand longer than necessary, knowing it would be the only non-verbal goodbye he would have. Cora didn't pull it away, but glanced down at where he gently wrung her hand, then back up into his face, her expression unreadable. He let her go in the next second, turning to check that her baggage went to the proper place and that Banks had arrived behind them.

Having seen to these things, he stepped up to the first class car with her and stood there, unsure what to do. "If you need anything, have the butler send a telegram to me. And, if you need help whilst in London, you can always call upon my sister, Lady Rosamund. She would be more than happy to come to your aid."

"Thank you, Lord Downton. I – I hope everything turns out well for you." Cora looked down quickly.

"So do I," he said. The blast of the whistle sounded. "Better be off then, Miss Levinson. You have your ticket?"

She patted her handbag. "Yes. I appreciate everything you've done for me." Her face showed signs of some struggle. Then, she said faintly, "Goodbye – Robert."

Robert managed a small, sad smile. "Goodbye, Cora."

He watched her turn and walk the short distance to the entrance of the car, then turn again and look at him. In another instant, she'd vanished.

It took everything in him not to follow after her and bring her back home with him.

He got home before dinner, but he wasn't hungry. Letting Thompson know, he went up to his dressing room. At the gong, his valet came up, but Robert had him dress him for bed instead of dinner. Once he'd left, Robert opened the door to their bedroom and leaned against the door frame, his eyes moving over their bed, the chairs, her armoire and dressing table, and empty spaces, where her things should be. He stepped into the room and stood still, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. The elements that made up her own sweet fragrance hung in the air – lavender lotion and soap, her perfume. He thought he could even detect, if only faintly, the scent of her skin.

But he knew that was silly.

He climbed into their bed and buried himself in the bedclothes, nuzzling his head into her pillow. He recalled the feel of her various night dresses, how it comforted him to weave his fingers into her dark hair. He recalled the rustling of linen or silk as she moved against him or they removed an item of clothing, and her palpable excitement when she'd purchased something new to wear for him – or when she wore an old favorite of theirs. Like the green scarf.

And he thought of the deep conversations they'd had. Along with arguments. Even on their wedding night, they'd argued. And Cora, his beloved, fiery wife, had told him she hoped he tripped and fell on his ass. (Which he had.) She'd wanted him to sleep in her room with her, but he wouldn't. It wasn't proper.

It saddened him to think that he'd wasted so much time. Because, after he'd come to his senses and seen how ridiculous he'd been, what he'd been missing, he'd realized that going to sleep with Cora, waking with her in his arms – it was something he never wanted to take for granted.

Clutching her pillow tighter to himself in his right arm, Robert felt her absence keenly. She was supposed to be resting there beside him. But she wasn't.

The worst part was that he wasn't sure if she ever would again.

The ache in his chest, the lead in his stomach, the churning in his head, everything he'd been attempting so hard to suppress since the past evening, all of it caught up with him in that moment. A low, strangled noise escaped his throat, accompanied by a flood of tears as he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Robert was thankful for his father's habit of eating in silence while he read the paper the next morning. He didn't want to talk to anyone. All of it was still too raw, and he'd slept only fitfully, plagued by dreams – something he didn't often have – so he was on edge.

Just after breakfast, a footman brought Robert a telegram from London. Opening it with shaky fingers, wondering if it was from Cora, he read it, taking a deep breath and smiling at the contents.

_Dear brother – stop – _it read, _your room here is ready – stop – come be near her – stop – win her back – stop – what are you waiting for – stop._

Robert bellowed for Thompson to send his valet to his room. He needed to pack and catch the afternoon train.

He was going to London.


	4. There's only one thing I need

When Robert stepped onto the train platform, he debated whether he should go to Rosamund's as he'd planned, or go straight to Grantham House to see Cora. Taking a deep breath, he started toward the street, where the carriage he knew Rosamund had sent for him waited.

He decided it would be better to wait.

"Robert!" Rosamund leapt up from the settee in her drawing room and took her brother's hand, kissing his cheek with a smile.

"Rosamund, I didn't realize what a relief it would be to see you. I appreciate your having me stay. You and Marmaduke." He turned to his sister's husband, wringing his hand.

"Not at all, Robert," Marmaduke said, shaking his head. "We're happy to have you. We're just – well, we're concerned about what's happened to Cora."

Sighing, his shoulders sagging, Robert dropped down upon the settee, Rosamund sitting beside him. "I don't know what to do. I just keep hoping that the next time I see her, she'll remember me again. But she doesn't. None of it. None of our life together."

Rosamund gave him a sympathetic glance after motioning to her husband to pour her brother a Scotch. "Robert, you wrote me that the doctor said there was a good chance she _would_ remember. You simply need to be patient with her."

Robert nodded thanks to Marmaduke when he handed him the Scotch. Having a large gulp, Robert held the glass upon his knee. "I'm certainly going to try, but I feel so lost without her." He closed his eyes, fighting tears.

"I know you do, brother." Rosamund patted his hand, exchanging a glance with her husband. She addressed Robert again. "Perhaps you'd like to go up and rest before the dressing gong? Settle in?"

"No." Robert shook his head. "I have to go see her."

Rosamund hesitated, still looking at Marmaduke. "I don't think that's a good idea, Robert. I know I told you to come and win her back, but you need a clear head, a plan. You can't just go barreling over there. Please, let's have a quiet dinner here, you get some sleep tonight, and then we will figure out what to do first thing tomorrow."

Nodding, Robert opened his eyes and drank his Scotch quietly, staring down at the carpet. Noticing his reverie, Rosamund shared another concerned glance with her husband. That her brother was lost without Cora would have been clear as day to her, even if he hadn't said it.

Throughout dinner, Rosamund attempted to get Robert to elaborate upon what he'd sent her in the letter. But he didn't really want to talk. Because, as excited as he'd been to come to London, Rosamund's words made him realize that it wasn't as simple as he'd wanted to believe. He was nearer to Cora here, but he still couldn't follow his first inclinations. He knew he had to wait.

But he wondered how long he could last.

The next morning, after a slightly more restful sleep than he'd had the night before, Robert paced the length of Rosamund's drawing room. She prattled on about what they might do, suggested friends they could recruit, but Robert eventually stopped listening. He clutched at Cora's wedding rings through his shirt. He couldn't wait any longer to see her.

Without saying a word to Rosamund, he started out of the room.

"Robert – wait! Don't!" She jumped up and hurried after him, but he'd already clapped his hat onto his head, put on his coat, and grabbed his gloves by the time she made it to the entryway, yelling after him. "Stop," she whispered as the door closed behind him, shaking her head with a deep sigh.

Panting with the effort of walking so quickly the several streets over to Grantham House, Robert knocked upon the door.

"Lord Downton?" the butler queried, somewhat confused. "Were we to expect you? From your letter –"

Robert shook his head, handing the man his hat and coat. "No, no. I'm staying with Lady Rosamund. Where might Lady Downton be?" He stared down the hallway wildly, as if she might magically appear before him.

"Her ladyship is in the drawing room, my lord."

"Good. Thank you," Robert said curtly, striding down the hall.

His heart thumped even harder when he beheld her, bent over her embroidery on the settee. He couldn't help smiling a bit.

"Cora."

Her head lifted at his soft voice. But, instead of smiling in greeting, she appeared bewildered. "Lord Downton? What are you doing here?" She put her embroidery aside and stood.

Alarm bells sounded in Robert's head at her use of his title rather than his name. He ignored them, coming closer to her until he was only a few steps away. "I had to see you. I can't bear to be so far from you."

Cora's lips pursed, and she stared at him coldly. "You told me you would leave me alone. You said you agreed it was best."

Robert swallowed hard, realizing he'd made a grave misstep. "I know, but I just thought –"

She was shaking her head, her eyes narrowing in anger. "No. Don't you understand? I am not your wife. You can't just keep showing up in front of me to try to make me love you. I don't remember you. I don't remember this life." She shook now, her fists clenched at her sides, her eyes throwing out azure sparks. "How many more times do I have to say it? _Leave me alone._"

They stood there, facing one another, mere feet separating them, Cora radiating indignation at his intrusion, Robert trying desperately to counter the strong urge to prostrate himself at her feet and beg her to reconsider – trying desperately to know what to say to her.

But he didn't know what to say to her. He'd made a mistake coming to see her, unannounced, unwelcome.

"I – I –" Robert stuttered. Unable to withstand her livid glare at him anymore, he made a hasty about face and retreated as fast as he could.

Out on the pavement again, he paused, taking deep gulps of cold air, considering where to go. Not wanting to face Rosamund's "I told you so," Robert headed in a different direction, needing to see others he trusted, others who knew him – and Cora – very well.

"Lord Downton," the butler announced, stepping aside to let Robert into the neatly appointed sitting room.

"Robert! How lovely to see you!" Margaret extended her hands and grasped Robert's arms when she reached him, kissing him upon each cheek and pulling him more fully into the room. "Sit down. I didn't know you were in London! Did Cora come with you? What –" She stopped, noticing his grey face and wet eyes as they sat together. "Something is wrong. Robert, what's happened?"

Robert found himself unable to do anything more than shake his head, his hand over his streaming eyes.

"Please, I'm beginning to think that something is wrong with Cora. Rosamund told us you two had a carriage accident and that Cora had been unconscious for several days, but that she'd woken. Robert?" Margaret put a hand on his arm.

Taking a deep breath, Robert sniffed and moved his hand to extract his handkerchief from his breast pocket. Wiping his eyes, he began to explain, his voice coarse and uneven. Before he got very far, they heard another voice from the hallway.

"Meg! Meg, I'm home! Are you in he–" Henry poked his head in the doorway, then smiled widely when he saw his wife and friend, striding into the room. "Yes, there you are. And, Robert, old chap, you should have told us –" But Henry's face fell as he saw Margaret shake her head at him, her eyes all concern, and registered the pain upon his friend's countenance. "What – Meg?"

"Henry, Robert was just telling me what's happened since their accident," she explained softly, her hand still upon Robert's arm. Robert's eyes remained, unseeing, upon the low table in front of the settee.

"Oh. Might I get you a drink, Robert? Scotch?" Henry moved again toward the door.

Robert waved his handkerchief dismissively, finally raising his eyes to his friend's face. "No, thank you, Henry."

Henry's brows lifted. Something was gravely wrong for Robert to refuse Scotch, particularly when he was so obviously upset. Henry sat down across from them. "Perhaps later. But, you were telling Margaret about…" he prompted.

Nodding, Robert began again, telling his – their – two best friends everything. When he ended, Margaret was also in tears. "Oh, Robert. She must be so frightened. You know she wouldn't act this way otherwise."

"I do know, Margaret. What I don't know is what to do. I don't even know what she thinks of me. The anger in her eyes earlier…. How am I supposed to help her remember if she won't let me see her?" Robert breathed much easier now, having told them everything, knowing they understood his pain.

Henry leaned forward in his chair. "Robert, Rosamund is right. You have to be patient. You have to show Cora that you respect her wishes. If you don't, she's going to continue to resist."

"I just – I can't handle this. I don't know how to handle it. And the fact that she's frightened makes it worse, because all I want to do is hold her and comfort her. But I can't." Another few tears slid down his face, and he swiped at them absentmindedly.

Margaret pressed his arm. "Would it help ease your mind if I went to see her, Robert? I know she won't remember me, but I think it might be easier for her to accept a friend, don't you? She may refuse to see me. But it can't hurt to try, can it? I would be, well, excuse the way I put this, but I would be less of a threat to her peace of mind."

Robert sighed, bowing his head. "No, but you're right. You would be less of a threat to her." He looked at Margaret. "Yes, it would ease my mind. I want to make sure she's well, that she has someone to try to make her more comfortable, and if I can't be the one to do that, I can't think of anyone better suited." He gave her a sad smile, one that didn't reach his eyes.

"As for making sure she sees you, Robert, there are ways, if she isn't against attending a few social events." Henry exchanged a glance with his wife.

"What do you mean?" Robert inquired, looking between the two in curiosity.

"Well," Margaret began, "Henry and I already planned a small gathering for next week – dancing, supper – for those of us still in London for the winter. It's always so dreadfully dull when everyone leaves after the Season but before the holiday festivities begin. Rosamund and Marmaduke were already invited – and accepted – and say you'll come to. I'll invite Cora. If she'll come, then that's one event in which to see her."

Robert nodded. "That's a good idea, but it's so far away. I begin to fidget when I haven't seen her for a day."

Henry cleared his throat. "We could always plan a dinner, a few days from now, invite a large enough flock of people that Cora won't feel we're pushing the two of you together. Wouldn't that be good, Meg?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Henry. Robert, what do you think?" Margaret turned to him with bright eyes.

Robert shook his head. "I'll agree with anything you think might help. I obviously cannot think with a clear head anymore."

"Good, then. We'll plan upon that. Meg will call upon Cora – what do you think, darling, tomorrow morning?" Henry fixed his eyes upon his wife.

"Yes, I think that'll be soon enough." She nodded, then looked at Robert again. "Will you stay for luncheon? We can get a message to Rosamund –"

"No, thank you, Margaret." He smiled at her wearily. "I'm not hungry, and I need to do a few things before going back to Painswick House." He stood, extending his arm over the table to shake Henry's hand, then twisting to kiss Margaret's cheek. "Thank you both. I'm more grateful than you know. Cora and I are blessed to have such good friends as you."

"We care about you two very much," Margaret said, wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of a finger. "And I want to be there to help Cora in her distress too. She's always been there for me when I needed her."

Henry walked with Robert to the door of the sitting room. "We'll send you an invitation to the dinner when we've set everything. And, in the meantime, if you need anything, you know you're always welcome here. We'll do anything we can to help you – and Cora."

"You're like a brother to me, Henry, and Margaret like another sister. And I know Cora feels the same." He lowered his eyes to the floor. "Felt the same."

"Robert, it'll be alright. You have to know that it will be alright." Henry put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Nodding, Robert sighed and looked up. "That's my greatest wish right now. Good day, Henry, Margaret."

"Let us know if you need anything else, Robert," Margaret added.

Robert fixed his eyes on Margaret's. "There's only one thing I need," he said softly before turning to go, heaving a heavy sigh and going to collect his coat and hat from their butler.

* * *

Rosamund didn't tell him "I told you so" when Robert relayed to her what happened in the drawing room of Grantham House. All she did was shake her head. However, she agreed that Margaret and Henry's plan was a good one.

"Now, if you can just keep yourself under control, brother…."

Before he'd returned, Robert had stopped by a florist and ordered the biggest and most expensive arrangement they had, signing the card with a simple, "I'm sorry, Robert."

Feeling slightly better for having done this, he went back to Painswick House for luncheon.

But as the day went on, he started getting fidgety again. So, he went out and purchased a box of exorbitantly priced Belgian chocolates, having those sent to her as well.

In fact, over the next couple of days, every time he felt like he needed to see her, Robert fought the impulse by having another gift sent to her. He sent more flowers, more chocolates, jewelry, a new hat, a pair of exquisite gloves, anything he thought a husband would send to a wife. He couldn't seem to help himself.

He heard nothing from her in return.

"Robert?" Rosamund traipsed into the drawing room and settled down beside him on the settee, where he endeavored – unsuccessfully – to read a book. "You have some post."

Taking the stack of letters, he flipped through them quickly. Gasping, he snatched up one small cream envelope, letting the others slip off his lap and into the floor unheeded.

Rosamund looked up from her own correspondence with a frown. "What is it?"

"It's from Cora." Holding the envelope carefully in his left hand, he slit it with the letter opener Rosamund passed to him, his fingers trembling. His face fell as he read the short note. "I can't do anything right," he mumbled, lead dropping into his stomach. The letter and envelope fell from his hand as he stood, stepping over the other letters on his way to the drinks cabinet.

Picking up the elegant bit of stationery, Rosamund asked, "What do you mean?"

Pouring a drink, Robert answered over his shoulder. "Read it."

She read it aloud. "'Dear Lord Downton, Please stop sending me gifts. It's too much, and I do not want them. If you send me anything else, I will send it back. Miss Cora Levinson.' Well. Not even a 'regards.'" Rosamund raised her eyes to her brother, where he leaned back against the drinks cabinet, sipping his Scotch. "Robert, how many gifts _did_ you send her?" She'd been unaware of his gift sending frenzy.

Lowering his eyes to the liquid in his glass, he mumbled, "I lost count."

"Robert! How is this keeping yourself under control? You're beginning to look like some crazed suitor who won't take 'no' for an answer! How do you think that makes Cora feel?" Rosamund studied him in annoyance.

Robert groaned miserably. "Bloody hell, Rosamund, you're right. What was I thinking?" He nursed his drink disconsolately, closing his eyes.

Rosamund's visage softened. "You were thinking that you love her, if she wouldn't let you see her that you would at least show her you are thinking of her."

He lifted his eyes, nodding slowly. "Yes. But she doesn't see it that way."

"No." She shook her head. "She doesn't." Rosamund paused, re-reading the missive. "What exactly did you send?"

"Oh, chocolates, jewelry, flowers."

"All the usual things that men send." Rosamund sighed. "Robert, did you stop to think that perhaps you have an advantage that you don't realize?"

Tilting his head in confusion, Robert asked, "What do you mean?"

"My guess is that, although you thought about what Cora might like when you sent those things, you also made a show of buying the grandest and most expensive things too, didn't you?" One of Rosamund's eyebrows raised.

"I, well, I suppose I did. I didn't want any expense spared." He came closer to her. "But what does that have to do with having an advantage?"

"Robert, you know Cora so very well. In fact, at this moment, in a way, you know her better than she knows herself. So think very carefully. When has Cora ever cared about gifts like those – especially from you?" Rosamund sat back and watched him.

Putting his glass down upon a table distractedly, Robert slumped into a chair, pensive now, his brows drawn together. Then, his forehead cleared. "You're right. It's not the type of gift – it's the meaning behind it." He stared at Rosamund with his mouth open.

She nodded at him, the eyebrow still raised. "Yes, sometimes you give her flowers or jewelry or perfume or garments, but there's always a particular reason for each thing."

"Of course," he breathed, holding his head in his hand. "How ridiculous I've been."

"Not ridiculous. Confused and in pain. Brother, stop being so hard on yourself." Rosamund's voice was soft, soothing.

Robert inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly. "I can't help it. If I drive her farther away with my actions…." He shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant.

"You have more post, Robert. I see Margaret's handwriting on two of those. Might they contain better news?" she prompted him.

"Yes, you're right." He stood and crossed to the settee, bending down to scoop up the other letters, then sitting beside her once more.

He passed the first one over to her. "The dinner. It's set for tomorrow night."

Rosamund perused the invitation, nodding. "Margaret sent me a note to say that the reason she didn't invite me and Marmaduke was so Cora wouldn't feel overwhelmed with more Crawley relatives if she accepted the invitation."

Robert sighed. "Yes. If," he muttered as he opened the second envelope from Margaret. He grew silent as he read, but a light began to shine in his eyes, a slight smile curling his lips. "Rosamund, she's been to visit Cora twice. And she says that Cora's anger is because of how baffling this all is for her, not because she hates me or thinks I'm a bad person." He let out a little noise of relief. He kept reading, then smiled even wider. "She's nearly certain Cora will be at the dinner." Then he turned panicked eyes upon his sister. "Oh, God, Rosamund, what if I make another mistake? What if I –?"

"Stop right there, Robert. Take a deep breath…." She watched him do this, then continued. "We will figure this out. Alright?"

But her brother became increasingly agitated, gathering up the three opened letters, he shoved them into his inside jacket pocket, beneath the sling, and stood. "I – I have to get some air, take a walk. I'll be back before the dressing gong."

"Robert…." She trailed off, knowing it was no use when he was in this sort of state.

As he wandered around the pavements of London, Robert let his mind wander as well. Cora would be at this dinner. But she couldn't stand to be near him. Surely, Margaret would tell her she'd invited him. She wouldn't let her friend be blind-sided by his presence.

So, if Cora had consented to this dinner…. Robert picked up his pace, his visage brightening as his mind started putting pieces together.

Rosamund was right. He knew Cora better than she knew herself. And there might be more than one way to get her back.

Smiling to himself now, Robert entered the bookshop, intending to send one last gift.

* * *

As he exited the carriage in front of Margaret and Henry's the next evening, Robert felt like a huge bundle of nerves. He paused outside the door, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths before passing the threshold into the hallway, allowing a footman to take his coat and hat from him.

Cora had not done what she'd threatened to do; she hadn't sent the last gift back. Robert wanted to take this as a good sign, but he wouldn't be sure until he saw her. And he knew she'd be here, since Margaret had sent a message to him confirming her acceptance of the invitation.

He and Rosamund had discussed at length how he should behave at the dinner, but Robert feared he would forget himself completely and do something foolish. Cora tended to bring it out in him even under the best of circumstances, and these most certainly were not.

Several guests had already arrived ahead of Robert, including his wife. He'd meant to go straight to Margaret, who stood ready to greet guests at a little distance from the drawing room door. But he found himself frozen just inside the doorway, gazing at Cora. She wore a plum dress and amethyst jewelry, and she looked very like she had the first night he'd ever approached her. His breath caught and sweat beaded upon his brow as he observed her easy grace in speaking with people – strangers as far as she knew – smiling at them and drinking champagne. But he knew that smile. It was the one she used when she was nervous, when she wanted to make people feel at ease but wasn't quite at ease herself.

"Robert?"

He felt a gentle hand upon his elbow and a familiar voice. He turned to the hostess. "I'm sorry, Margaret, I –"

She shook her head with a smile. "There's no need to explain. I understand." She let his arm go and beckoned to him. "Come here a moment."

Robert followed her into a corner of the room, free of guests. His eyes kept going back to Cora, watching her, glad that Henry was close by her.

"Cora and I met again today for tea. From the way she speaks…. Robert, she still doesn't remember, but I think she'd like to." Margaret smiled at him softly.

"But she doesn't." He gave her a sad smile back. "No, it's alright," he said as she was about to speak again. "Well, it's not really, but what else can I do?" Robert shrugged a bit. "What did you tell the other guests?"

"I told them the truth. That she had some memory loss and probably wouldn't remember them. And that if she had them call her by her maiden name that they should do that. And I told her that the guests knew her, so they might not act like strangers would," she explained, then chuckled lightly. "She said that she was getting somewhat used to that, even though it was still uncomfortable."

Robert nodded. "And about me?"

Margaret followed his eyes to where they'd alighted upon Cora. "She said she understood our inviting you if we're all such good friends. And that it wasn't her place to tell me not to invite someone to my own party."

He brought his eyes back to Margaret's. "But she agreed to come."

"Yes. She was hesitant, Robert, I won't lie to you. But I know she was feeling cooped up, being alone in the house all the time."

Robert heaved a great sigh. "I should let you get back to greeting the others. Thank you for everything, Margaret."

"Robert, you've thanked me quite enough already. We are your friends, yours and Cora's. Of course we're going to help you." She put a hand briefly upon his arm before taking up her post near the door once more.

As he moved closer to the knot of guests in the middle of the room, Robert let out a silent sigh of relief to see Henry headed toward him with two glasses of Scotch. "Good to see you again, old chap," Henry said, holding out one of the glasses. "Here you go, Robert. Just what the doctor ordered."

Taking the proffered glass with a slight incline of the head in thanks, Robert had a few swallows before indicating Cora with the glass. "How is she doing?" he asked in a low voice.

Henry twisted his head over his shoulder a bit to glance at her. "She's a trifle nervous, but that's only to be expected – in a room full of strangers who aren't strangers."

Robert nodded, having another long drink of Scotch and lowering his eyes. He didn't want to be caught staring at her.

"We put you beside Margaret and Cora beside me at dinner tonight, Robert. Meg thought that would be best." Henry kept his voice low.

"Yes. I'm sure she wouldn't want to be beside me, and I know you'll make sure she's comfortable as possible," he murmured.

"I will, Robert." Henry suddenly looked past Robert, then nodded. "Er, sorry, friend. Margaret is signaling to me to come help her with something."

"Of course," Robert said, nodding again. "I'll be fine."

Henry smiled and bustled around Robert to join his wife. Robert retired to a chair in an abandoned corner of the room, not really in the mood to speak to anyone else. He nursed his Scotch and, occasionally lifted his eyes to his wife, just to make sure she was alright.

Then, incredibly, she was standing in front of him. Nearly jumping out of the chair, Robert stared at her in astonishment. "Miss Levinson – I, er, hello, good evening."

"Lord Downton, good evening to you. I would offer my hand in greeting, but I see yours is full." She said this in almost a teasing way, and it tripped Robert up completely.

"I, well, yes. But I could –" He glanced around, and put his drink upon the table next to his chair. He continued to gape as she smiled and offered her gloved hand. Taking it, he kissed the back of it, careful not to hold onto it longer than necessary. He gulped several times, endeavoring to catch his breath.

"You appeared flustered, my lord. Are you alright?" She peered at him in curiosity and fascination.

"I'm fine," he answered quickly, unsure where to look or what to do with his hand. He'd been so certain she wouldn't approach him until after dinner – if she approached him at all. And he'd been determined not to approach her. But here she was, his beautiful glittering goddess, and Robert couldn't remember how to form words properly in front of her.

Cora cast her eyes down, her face becoming more serious. "I wanted to apologize, Lord Downton, for the other morning. I believe I came across as somewhat cruel, and I regret that." She raised her eyes to his, meeting them squarely.

She didn't look afraid or nervous, merely contrite. Robert caught his breath.

"No, I shouldn't have barged in. You were right. I said I would let you be, and I didn't. So the apology should be mine to give, not yours." Her calm manner had a soothing effect upon him. "And I should apologize, too, for inundating you with gifts. I – it was unthinking of me."

"On the contrary, my lord." She smiled at him again, and his heart skipped a beat. "I think I understand why you sent them, but it was just too much, you see." Her visage softened. "But I did very much want to thank you for the last package. The book is beautiful. I love Ancient Egypt; my father told me stories of the Nile and the pyramids and tombs, the kings and queens and the religion when I was a child." Her bright smile disarmed him once more. "And the flowers – alstroemeria is my favorite. Especially that shade of pink."

Robert just stopped himself from saying, "I know." Instead, he bowed his head slightly and said, "I'm only happy you liked them. I realize I took a chance in sending you something else when you'd requested that I stop. I hope you know I wasn't attempting to distress you."

"No, I could tell." She kept smiling at him, and Robert thought his heart would burst.

Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, over her shoulder. Henry and Margaret stood by the door, blocking the hallway, and Henry was waving him over. "Er, pardon me, Miss Levinson, but Lord Henry and Lady Margaret appear to need me for something. Would you excuse me?" He hoped Henry had a good reason for interrupting.

"Certainly," she said, unperturbed.

As she went back to one of the groups of guests, Robert hastened to his friends. "What is wrong?" he hissed, somewhat annoyed.

Margaret looked at Henry and then back at Robert. "Sir Alistair is here."

* * *

_A/N: This fic is actually from a prompt found on the cobertprompts tumblr page. I mentioned this on tumblr, but not here - it's someone else's idea originally, submitted so anyone could run with it. I saw, I ran. The original prompt reads:_

After two years of marriage, Robert gets in to a nearly fatal accident that results in severe amnesia. When he wakes up, he has lost all memory of the past two years and does not recognize Cora, his wife, who has to win his heart all over again before his memory starts returning.

Alternatively, the roles of Robert and Cora can also be switched.

_Obviously, I made the switch, as I really wanted Robert to be the one pining this time. And, thanks, everyone for reading (and re-reading!), following, and reviewing! It's very much appreciated!_


	5. A further complication

"_What_?"

Robert stared at her in disbelief. His voice had been much louder than he'd intended, and Margaret put her hands out in a shushing gesture, her eyes begging him to be quieter.

"I didn't invite him," Margaret insisted in hushed tones, her panic still managing to come through. "I would never have done that. But Miss Henderson asked if she could bring her cousin. I honestly assumed she meant Alistair's brother, since Alistair has been in Europe for several months, and I didn't hear anything of his return. It seems as if I was wrong."

Margaret's face was all apology and embarrassment. Robert sighed softly and took her hand, making himself calm down as best as he could. "Margaret, it'll be fine. Where is he now?"

"Fortunately, he went into the washroom. You know what a dandy he is." Henry chuckled nervously.

"Should I turn them away, Robert?" Margaret pressed his hand, conveying her willingness to do this for her friends.

Robert inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, weighing the options. Then he shook his head. "No, Margaret, don't do that. I don't want your reputation as a hostess tarnished. Besides, there are the three of us to keep an eye on him. And I would hope my presence would help him remember the last time." His eyes narrowed at the memory.

Margaret studied his expression. "If you're sure?"

He nodded, resigned. "I have a feeling he wouldn't go without causing a stir, either. It's not worth it, and it might upset Cora more. I don't want that."

Henry and Margaret nodded as well. "Alright, Robert," Henry said. "But I'll wager you're going to need another Scotch before dinner. Let's tend to that, shall we?" He clapped his friend's right shoulder and led him away, Robert and Margaret exchanging a glance of understanding.

They knew they'd have to watch Alistair like hawks – particularly since he most likely knew of Cora's memory loss.

When Robert saw Sir Alistair make a beeline for Cora the moment he entered the drawing room, sparing one glance to be sure Robert was on the other side of the room, he was certain the man had heard of her amnesia. And apparently he had no scruples about taking advantage of that. Robert sipped his Scotch and ground his teeth together, his brow thunderous. Cora smiled and let the cad kiss her hand, completely unaware of how Sir Alistair had treated her the last time they'd met. She couldn't be held accountable for finding a stranger charming.

But Robert couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy – and another of fear.

For the next half hour before they were all to sit down to dinner, various guests spoke to Robert –most expressing their relief that the two of them had come through the accident relatively unharmed, some wanting to know more details (which Robert politely refused to give), and all of them eventually returning the conversation to society gossip and the other usual talk at dinners like these. Once this happened, Robert's attention was lost to them, and his eyes sought out Cora. Although Sir Alistair didn't exactly hover over her, as he had during the Season she'd arrived in England, he always seemed to be in a group next to the one she was in when he wasn't in hers. Robert's gaze went between the two of them, his severe countenance softening every time he moved his eyes from Sir Alistair to Cora.

A few times, Cora appeared to feel Robert's tender regard and would turn, locking eyes with him briefly before lowering her lashes and blushing. He couldn't tell whether she smiled or not. But the last time this happened, right before the butler announced dinner, she kept her eyes upon his much longer. As a blush painted her cheeks bright pink, a wide smile wreathed her lips. Robert couldn't breathe. But he felt the corners of his own mouth curve upward in answer. Then she lowered her lashes once more. He couldn't pull his eyes away – and was rewarded with another smile when she raised her eyes again. It reminded him so much of the first look they'd shared, across a ballroom, of the first time she'd completely taken his breath away.

As she had continued to do every day since.

Everyone filed into the dining room, the guests chatting and laughing, finding their places, indicated by elegant place cards. Sir Alistair chuckled a bit and pointed to one of them, upon which his brother's name was printed. "This is mine, yes, Lady Margaret?"

Blushing in embarrassment, she answered, "Yes, of course. I apologize for the misunderstanding, Alistair."

"Oh, 'tis no matter," he said jovially. He glanced next to him – where Cora stood behind her chair, waiting for a footman to seat her. "The mix up has compensations enough."

After the women were seated, the men sat as well. Margaret turned her head and shook it slightly at Robert, her entire face flushed and her eyes apologetic. Robert shook his head in return, making a curt motion of dismissal with his hand, as if to say to her, "You weren't to know."

At dinner itself, Robert didn't say more than a few words. Fortunately his dinner companions were Margaret, who understood why he didn't want to speak, and, on the other side, a woman who didn't seem interested in speaking to him anyway. While it might have chafed any other time, tonight Robert not only didn't mind, but was grateful. It gave him an opportunity to study Cora – and Sir Alistair.

To be fair, Cora spoke just as much to Henry, her other dinner companion, as she did to Alistair. And, occasionally, her eyes would meet Robert's across the table. So at least Sir Alistair hadn't managed to capture her attention completely. He recognized that Cora might be merely attempting to be polite. But he wouldn't put anything past that blaggard Alistair.

Dinner went smoothly enough, and Robert could feel the tension leaving Margaret. As the hostess, she wanted everything to go well for her guests. Seeing that it had, at least thus far, she was put more at ease. Therefore, it was with a broad smile that she rose at the end of the meal, indicating that it was time for the ladies to go through. She exchanged a look with her husband before drawing Cora's arm through hers to follow behind the others. Robert's heart leapt when Cora glanced behind her at him with a nervous look. He nodded subtly at her, and she smiled a bit before turning back to walk out with Margaret.

Footmen poured out generous servings of brandy while the men passed around cigars. A few of them moved closer to their host, to better facilitate conversation. Robert debated whether to stay at the opposite end of the table or to move as well. He didn't want to engage in idle chatter or answer more questions about their accident and its aftermath. His entire reason for attending the dinner had gone with Margaret into the drawing room, and he just wanted to be there with her, even if he didn't get to talk with her or even to stand next to her.

But out of respect for his best friend, Robert moved several seats around the table with an inaudible sigh.

For a while, everything was fine. Conversation was innocuous enough, and no one seemed to expect Robert to participate, feeling the gloom surrounding him. He drank his brandy and smoked his cigar in relative peace, only cutting his eyes at Sir Alistair every-so-often.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, when Robert's eyes were lowered to his brandy glass, watching its contents swirl around, Sir Alistair addressed him. "So, it seems that Lady Downton is suffering from more than just a slight memory loss, eh, Downton?"

Robert's eyes snapped up, his face immediately turning red with temper. He knew it wasn't just a casual statement. "I'll thank you to keep your nose out of it, Sir Alistair," he snarled.

The other men exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. Henry cleared his throat loudly. "Alistair, I don't think Robert wants to talk about that."

Alistair ignored him. "In fact, I don't think she remembers _you_ at all," he sneered

Eyes narrowing, Robert's fingers tightened around the brandy glass until his knuckles were white. It would do no good to lose his temper, and Alistair was definitely goading him. "What difference does that make to you?"

The man had the audacity to smirk at Robert. "I think it makes a great difference – especially when it comes to her."

Henry stood up suddenly, raising his voice. "And I think it's time to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. Come along now, there is more brandy there."

Some of the others grumbled about their unfinished cigars, but Henry's eyes were fastened upon the two men who glared at one another from across the table. The rest finally started into the hallway, slowly vacating the dining room. "You two as well," Henry said, his voice firm. "Alistair, Robert?"

Begrudgingly, the two rose from their chairs and moved toward the door. As soon as Henry's back was turned and Alistair was close enough, Robert grabbed him by the arm and pulled him roughly around to face him. "Don't even think about it, Alistair," he growled. "She is still _my_ wife, and I will do anything to protect her from a scoundrel like you. You'd do well to remember the last time. I will have no qualms, no hesitation, in wiping that smug look off your face in a way you most certainly will never forget."

Alistair snatched his arm away, smoothing his jacket and waistcoat and standing up as tall as he could – still not coming close to the height of the red-faced man in front of him. The smirk remained intact. "We'll just see about that, won't we?" With a laugh, he turned smartly upon his heel and marched out, calling over his shoulder, "She's not even wearing her wedding rings."

Robert stood there, staring after him, grasping the wedding rings through his shirt. He knew the man was capable of all sorts of devious deeds, but to all but announce to a room full of gentlemen that he planned to go after his wife? In a way, Robert marveled at his utter gall.

At the same time, he hated the villain.

Upon entering the drawing room, Robert's eyes immediately went to Cora. It didn't surprise him that Sir Alistair now monopolized her attention. Scanning the rest of the room, he realized that most of the other guests surreptitiously stared at the two of them – then would cast sympathetic looks his way. It was too much for his temper to handle.

He went to Henry and Margaret. Margaret shook her head, her expression one of shock, as he came up to them. "Robert, I can't believe what he said! Henry just told me."

"Yes, and it seems all the other men told the women as well." Robert's voice shook with barely controlled anger. "And you didn't hear what he told me in private."

Henry looked him in the eye. "I did. I wasn't very far when you stopped him, Robert, and I heard."

"Then you also know why I can't stay here and watch him try and seduce my wife," he hissed in a hoarse whisper. "I'll kill him."

Margaret's eyes went wide. "Robert, go. We'll look after her. You know we won't let anything happen to her."

Robert turned to her, his visage softening a tiny bit. "I know you won't, Margaret. Make my excuses to the others?"

"Of course." Henry nodded. "We'll make sure Cora gets safely home."

"Thank you." He wrung Henry's hand, then kissed Margaret's cheek. "I do apologize for leaving so early, Margaret, seeing as how you set up this dinner for my benefit, but –" His eyes settled on his wife for a moment before he turned back with a shake of the head. "I can't watch this. I can't."

"I know," Margaret whispered. "It's alright. Get some rest, Robert."

But once Robert stepped onto the pavement, he knew he couldn't simply get into a carriage and return to Painswick House. Instead, he told the driver to go ahead, that he'd rather walk. And walk he did. He strolled somewhat aimlessly around the blocks adjacent to Margaret and Henry's, feeling as if he could not stray too far away. He remembered Cora's looks before and during dinner, and he ached. His mind wandered down many roads, all of which led back to her. Wiping away stray tears with the back of his glove Robert pulled out his pocket watch eventually, being in such a brown study that he had no idea how much time had passed.

He was astonished to discover he'd been ambling along for nearly two hours. Raising his head, he noticed he was almost back to Henry and Margaret's. He continued in that direction, thinking that if all the guests had gone, they might not mind sharing with him how the rest of the evening went.

As he approached the steps, he lifted his eyes to the door just as a figure stepped outside.

"Lord Downton," Cora said with a smile. She descended the steps and stopped in front of him. The carriage stood waiting for her.

Robert flicked his eyes to the windows on either side of the door. True to their word, Margaret and Henry peered out of these, watching that Cora got safely into her conveyance. "Miss Levinson, did you have a nice evening?"

"Well, I suppose so. It's rather exhausting to be in a roomful of strangers, however. Especially when they seem to know you rather well themselves. It puts one at a distinct disadvantage." Her smile transformed into one of concern. "Lady Margaret told me you left with a headache. I trust you're better now, as you're out and about?"

Inclining his head in assent, Robert murmured, "I think I needed some air, Miss Levinson."

"I'm glad you feel better. I was a bit worried when you left so precipitately." Cora looked at him curiously then. "Wait – are you waiting for me?"

Robert waved his hand, saying, "Oh no. I thought if everyone had gone that I'd see if Margaret and Henry were still awake."

She nodded. "Oh." Robert believed he detected a modicum of disappointment. "I am the last to leave, so they should still be awake."

"Actually," he ventured, clearing his throat gently, "I need to tell the butler at Grantham House something. Would you mind if I accompanied you home?" Robert fastened his eyes upon her hands, clasped in front of her, afraid of what he might see in her face at this request.

"What about Margaret and Henry?" she asked.

"Oh, I'll see them tomorrow. They're most likely tired anyway. I shouldn't disturb them so late." He didn't lift his eyes.

"That's true," she agreed in a soft voice. "I suppose you could accompany me, my lord."

Robert looked up, nodding faintly. "Thank you, Miss Levinson." He indicated the carriage door, where a footman waited to hand her in. "Shall we?"

With a small smile, she preceded him, letting the footman help her. Robert swung in behind her, sitting on the seat opposite. They rode together in silence for a few moments, the dim light of the carriage lamps giving their cold-reddened faces a slight glow.

Glancing at her nervously, Robert tugged his coat more securely over his sling. "Sir Alistair sat next to you at dinner." Miraculously, he kept his voice even.

"Yes," she said. "He was very polite to me. Everyone was. Sir Alistair wanted to make sure I was comfortable. It was kind of him."

Robert grimaced, but managed to control himself. "Miss Levinson, I know you don't remember, but we have had, let us say, run-ins with Sir Alistair before."

"Oh?" Her smile faded. "What sort of run-ins? He appeared the perfect gentleman to me all night."

"I don't like to say. I was not happy to see him there tonight. Nor were Henry and Margaret."

"If they didn't want him there, why did they invite him?" came her baffled question.

Robert met her eyes. "They didn't. He came in his brother's stead."

Cora shook her head. "But he was very nice to me."

"Of course he was, Cor- Miss Levinson. He has designs on you," he blurted out.

Her brow furrowed. "But, aren't you and I supposed to be married?"

Robert fought against growing frustration. "He doesn't care about that. He doesn't now, and he didn't then."

Cora scoffed. "Don't be silly, Lord Downton. He's simply being friendly. He offered to take me around London tomorrow and show me some of the sights before Mother and Poppa will be here in the afternoon."

His heart dropped down into his stomach. "Are you going?"

"I told him I didn't have time tomorrow," she said. "I have to make sure everything is ready for their arrival."

"Cora. Please don't go anywhere alone with him." Robert's eyes pleaded.

But Cora's eyes narrowed. "_Lord Downton_," she bit off the address sharply to indicate that he'd gone out of bounds again. "I will go anywhere I like with anyone I decide is worthy. If you know me as well as you say you do, you know that I can judge a person's character fairly well all on my own. I do not need help, and I did not ask for help. Don't tell me what to do. Especially if you're acting out of jealousy."

Robert's face fell. "Right." He rapped his knuckles on the carriage roof to tell the driver to stop. "I should get out here. I don't want to agitate you further." She looked surprised. He gazed at her a long moment while the driver halted the horses. "But I know Sir Alistair, and I know what he's done and threatened to do. It's not jealousy that prompts me to warn you – although I won't deny that I felt a bit of envy at how he commanded so much of your attention tonight – it's caution. If you don't believe me, ask Margaret. She knows what happened before. I trust your judgment, Miss Levinson, or I would normally, but I have a feeling it may be compromised at the moment." He sidled toward the carriage door, putting his hand upon the latch. He locked eyes with her once more. "He may seem like one right now, but Sir Alistair is no gentleman. I only urge you to practice caution when around him." He opened the door and heaved himself out before saying, "Goodnight, Miss Levinson," and shutting the door, his heart heavy.

* * *

Two days later – two days Robert spent in near agony, Cora having banished him from her presence – Isidore Levinson appeared in the drawing room of Painswick House.

"We need to talk," he said as soon as he walked in, no greeting or preamble, his demeanor more solemn than Robert had ever seen.

"Of course, Isidore. Come right in." He stood, indicating a chair. "Er, it's nice to see you, sir. I trust you and Martha had a satisfactory voyage? May I offer you a drink?"

Isidore sat and waved the offer away with his hand. "The voyage was terrible. Not because of the ship, but because of how anxious we were to get here." He waited until Robert had seated himself again to go on. "Thank you for the letter you left for us. It was very thorough, and we might have been blindsided otherwise." Isidore put his head in his hand, his elbow on his knee. "She doesn't remember any of it, does she?"

"No," Robert confirmed quietly. "The doctor says there's a chance she never will."

Shaking his head, Isidore lifted it again. "I know this is difficult for you, Robert."

He nodded. "And she won't talk to me at all now, because I upset her the other night." Sighing deeply, he got up to pour a drink, grateful to his sister for providing such in her drawing room. He held out the bottle in front of him. "Are you sure you won't join me in one, Isidore?"

"I suppose I could." He waited until Robert had brought him a drink and then gone back to get his own, remaining leaned back against the cabinet. They lifted their glasses together with a nod and drank. "Cora is very confused, Robert. Confused and frightened – and resistant. More than I thought she'd be. She cried when she saw us, acted as if she were afraid you might be lying to her when you said we were on our way, like she couldn't trust even our telegram from Liverpool." He looked up from the drink where he'd been staring. "She's in a very fragile state. I've never seen my daughter like this before."

"Nor have I, since we've been married. And I know I make mistakes, but I can't seem to do anything right, as well as I know her." He paused, taking a long swallow of Scotch. "To be quite frank, my heart is broken."

Isidore looked at him gravely. "What is to be done?"

Robert shrugged. "I don't know anymore. I thought I was making progress, but after the dinner the other night…." He trailed off, having another sip. "There is a ball in a few days, but I can't imagine that she'd want to see me there." Putting his glass down, he ran his hand over his forehead and then over his eyes.

Sighing, Isidore drained his glass, then changed the subject, seeing the pain in his son-in-law's face. "I hate to make things worse, but there's a further complication, Robert. A man has been sniffing around Grantham House the past couple of days." He lifted his eyes to Robert's.

"Sir Alistair?" His eyes narrowed, and his fingers involuntarily curled into a fist.

Isidore nodded. "Martha says she recognizes him from Cora's season. He followed Cora around like a puppy until you came on the scene." He screwed up his eyes a bit. "Wait – wasn't there another occurrence having to do with him? Something inappropriate he said to Cora?"

Now Robert nodded. "Yes. The bloody bastard should have been horsewhipped for what he said."

"Please, please don't elaborate. I don't think I can escape the country quickly enough if I end up murdering this fellow." Isidore's eyes darkened with fury. "Is he a threat to my princess this time, Robert?"

Taking a deep breath, Robert gave his father-in-law a slow nod. "He all but announced to a roomful of men after dinner the other night that since she couldn't remember me that he'd be pursuing her. I tried to warn her about him, but she – she won't listen. It's why she won't talk to me. She thought I questioned her judgment of character." Tears stung Robert's eyes. Rosamund had understood what Robert had been trying to do, but he needed the Levinsons to see it too, as they had a much better chance of convincing Cora to steer clear of him. "But it's not her judgment I don't trust. It's him. I believe he'd stop at nothing to steal her away for himself."

"Then we have to make sure he doesn't." Isidore put his glass down carefully beside him, watching his own movements, then looked up at Robert again. "Robert, apart from those first few months, when I wondered what was going on exactly out here, there has not been one letter I've had from my little girl that isn't full of love and hopes and dreams for her future – yours and hers together. And when you were both out to visit us in Newport last year... She's so happy with you. We have to help her remember. However we can. It's so hard to see her struggle. It hurts a poor old father's heart."

Robert let his tears fall unchecked now. "I don't know how to help her. I don't want to make her worse or drive her away." He bowed his head, rubbing the heel of his hand across his eyes.

Isidore leaned back in his chair and rested his elbows on its arms, his fingers laced together, deep in thought. "You must come to dinner," he said, shrugging. "Just the four of us. She needs to see you interact with us – people she actually remembers."

"Will she agree to that?" Robert stood up straight, a tiny light of hope in his eyes.

Unlacing his fingers and leaning forward in his chair, Isidore smiled for the first time since he'd walked in the room. "You let me worry about that, Robert. Dinner, tomorrow night then."

Robert took a deep breath and nodded, smiling a little as well. "Dinner, tomorrow night."


	6. He means nothing to me

Robert plucked at his coat buttons nervously as he waited for their butler to answer the door of Grantham House. He wondered how Cora would look at him, what she would say to him – if anything. He wondered how much Martha's sharp tongue would help or hurt his cause. Nonetheless, he remained grateful to Isidore for suggesting a "family" dinner.

Cora's initial reaction froze Robert in his tracks when he entered the drawing room behind the butler.

"Mother!" she hissed. "What is _he_ doing here?" She had trouble lowering her voice properly in her vexation, and Robert felt lead drop into his stomach as Isidore rose to greet him.

"Isidore?" Robert said in a much lower voice than his wife managed. "Did she not know I was going to be here tonight?"

"Er, well…." Isidore wrung his son-in-law's hand and hung his head sheepishly.

Martha turned to her daughter, saying loud and clear, "We invited him, Cora."

Cora stared at Robert through narrowed eyes even as she addressed her father. "Poppa, you knew about this?"

"Yes, Princess. In fact, I'm the one who invited him, not your mother." Isidore gestured to the footman to bring drinks.

Robert cleared his throat. "I should go, Martha, Isidore. I can tell when I'm not wanted," he said in a dejected voice, turning toward the door.

"No, Robert," Martha said, standing. She looked down at her daughter sternly. "_We_ invited him, Cora, and I expect you to treat him as politely as you would any guest of ours." Raising her eyebrow at her daughter, she stared her down.

Cora lowered her eyes. "Yes, Mother," she said softly.

"Robert." Martha smiled as she moved forward to greet her son-in-law. "How lovely to see you again."

Kissing her cheek and taking her hands, Robert smiled at her, feeling a swell of gratitude for the woman with whom he'd often sparred and mouthing a silent "thank you." She shook her head slightly, continuing to grin at him. "I'm happy to be your guest, Martha," he said aloud.

The footman served drinks, Martha having a Scotch along with the men, and Cora sipping a sherry.

And she sipped in silent indignation as Martha, Isidore, and Robert conversed. Robert knew his wife was indignant; she fairly radiated with it. Not everyone would be able to tell, but he could, and he knew her parents could too. They ignored her. If she didn't want to participate, then fine.

"Robert, I see you're wearing the waistcoat I sent you for your second anniversary! It looks well on you." Isidore indicated the intricately embroidered blue, green, purple, and gold waistcoat Robert wore.

Robert looked down at the garment, running his hand over it. "Yes, well, someone told me my eyes look very blue when I wear it, even though I don't often wear such colorful garments." His eyes flicked to Cora, who kept her gaze upon her sherry glass. Indeed, he'd not been enamored with the gift Isidore had sent him – at first. But Cora had convinced him otherwise. And he felt an inclination to wear it to this dinner with her parents, well aware that Isidore would approve.

"They do," Martha said. "Your mother's eyes, in fact. How _is_ Empress Violet, Robert?"

He chuckled good-naturedly. "Oh, she's fine. As imperious as always." He rolled his eyes, although he remembered how supportive his mother had been about Cora's amnesia. Glancing down, he added, "But she's been very good about certain things lately." He met Martha's eyes with a meaningful expression.

Martha nodded in understanding. "Well. I may have to send her something to show my appreciation." Then she took a large swig of her whiskey and winked at him.

"And my dear friend Patrick, Robert? How's he faring?" Isidore grinned. He and Robert's father had been thick as thieves when the two families had been together for their wedding two years prior.

Robert had a sip of Scotch before answering. "Well, sir, he's been a bit swamped with the estate lately, seeing as how I haven't been quite in a place to help him…." He cast his eyes down again, somewhat ashamed that he hadn't been stepping in like he should. "But he's well enough. He and Mama seem to be getting along even more than usual, actually."

Isidore started to laugh. "I bet I can pinpoint when," was his enigmatic response.

Martha rolled her eyes. "Isidore, stop that." But she threw him a cheeky grin. Robert fidgeted a bit, growing slightly red without knowing exactly why.

He noticed Cora's quiet throughout this exchange. Her indignation seemed to have faded into resignation, and she never looked up. He longed to sit next to her and take her hand; however, he was fairly certain this wouldn't be well received. Sighing inwardly, he focused upon his in-laws once more.

They chatted about Rosamund and Marmaduke, his parents, Isidore's business, and the estate, until dinner. Cora continued in silence. She followed them into the dining room submissively. Robert hated to see her this way. He hated that she felt she had to endure his presence. It was a feeling he couldn't get used to.

Martha sat next to Robert, with Cora next to her father. The three continued their conversation, which eventually turned to Cora and Robert's trip to Newport the summer before. In the midst of Martha's laughing reminiscence of a day they'd all spent at the shore – Isidore and Robert interjecting their own mirthful comments – Cora interrupted.

She gaped at Robert, the first time she'd spoken – or even looked at anyone – since the beginning of the evening. "You – you brought me to Newport?" she inquired incredulously.

Robert had gotten lost in Martha's retelling of their Newport adventures, and his eyes still shone with the memory. He gave Cora a soft smile as he inclined his head at her. "Of course I did. We stayed for a month. I couldn't have you missing your family so badly when it was so easy for us to take a trip to visit them."

Blinking at him, she put her fork down upon her plate. "You really do care about me, don't you?" she asked in a near whisper.

He held her eyes with his, swallowing against a rising lump. "Yes," he said simply.

Cora took a slow, deep breath, then lowered her eyes. "Excuse me, I – I need to…." She put down her serviette and hardly waited for the footman to pull her chair out for her before she stood and hurried from the room, her face averted.

Robert started toward the door to follow her, but Isidore stopped him with a, "Robert, please. Let me go to her. I'll see if I can get her to come back."

Seeing the look on his father-in-law's face, Robert nodded and sat down again. _It's probably best_, he thought, _as I'm not sure I could speak anyway_.

Martha resumed eating. "So, I think it's going well."

Robert turned and looked at her askance. "How can you possibly think that?"

She didn't lift her eyes from her plate. "Robert, you should know the answer to that question."

"But, I don–" He paused, thinking. "She didn't go up to her room immediately after I arrived."

"Right," she said, chewing a piece of roast.

"And she believed us all when we spoke of the holiday in Newport, even if she doesn't remember." Robert stared straight ahead, blinking hard.

"Right again." She nodded and picked up her wine glass, drinking deeply.

Turning to her again, he stared at her. "Martha, do you think Isidore will get her back in here?"

Martha shrugged unconcernedly. "I'd say after a bit of a cry on her part, he'll most likely convince her." She twisted her head around finally and glanced at his plate before pursing her lips at him. "Robert, I have a good idea that you aren't eating properly of late, so please do me a favor and eat your entrée before it gets cold? We can't have you wasting away on us."

Robert grinned. "Alright. But only as a favor to you."

She nodded and went back to her own food. "That works for me."

Focusing upon his plate, Robert had almost finished before Isidore returned – with Cora. Standing as they entered, he could do nothing but look relieved that she'd returned.

Then, after they'd all sat down once more, she lifted her tear-stained face and reddened eyes up to give him a tentative smile. He met it with a smile of his own, thinking that perhaps Martha had been right after all.

Throughout the rest of the evening, Cora was still relatively closed-lipped. But she asked a few questions and her gaze upon Robert continued to soften as she listened to the stories he and her parents told.

Robert wasn't sure how, near to the time he'd meant to return to Rosamund's, that both Isidore and Martha happened to be absent from the room, but as Cora came and sat next to him, he didn't quite care.

Cora pointed to the sling, which was narrower than the one he'd been wearing since the accident, in order to show off the waistcoat. "Does your shoulder hurt still?"

"Only when I move it too much, or in certain ways. The doctor said it would be several more weeks until it was back to normal. Until then, I have to be careful, or I could damage it more." Robert gave her a tender glance. "Thank you for asking."

"Well," she said timidly, "I know I wasn't the only one in that accident." She lowered her lashes, studying her hands. "And, you're right. Your eyes look very blue when you wear that waistcoat." Cora blushed and raised her eyes again.

Feeling on the verge of blushing himself, Robert cleared his throat a little. "I haven't told you how beautiful you look tonight, Miss Levinson. I hope you'll permit my saying it."

Smiling, she adopted a teasing tone. "It would be a bit late for permission, seeing as you've already said it." Then her voice grew more solemn. "I didn't give you a chance to earlier. I apologize for my rudeness, Lord Downton." She looked down at her hands once more.

"Please, don't. I thought they would tell you. Isidore acted like he would."

Cora shook her head. "I would have told them to tell you not to come. Or I would have stayed in my room," she explained softly. "I understand why they did it."

"Still, it wasn't very fair of them." He stared at her hands as well, wanting so much to take them in his own.

"It was the only way. I'd set myself against you after the other night. But, tonight, having seen how you are with Mother and Poppa, how much they respect you –" She lifted her eyes and captured his in a long gaze. "Poppa told me how good you've always been to me."

Robert's voice cracked as he attempted to talk around the lump in his throat. "I've only ever wanted to be good to you, and to make you happy, as happy as I possibly can. As happy as you've always made me."

Cora blinked back tears. "I wish I could remember," she whispered.

"Perhaps you will." He gave her a small smile, even though his stomach clinched in fear that she might not. With every day that passed, it seemed less and less likely. "Miss Levinson, would it be alright if I called upon you tomorrow? You and your parents if you wish. For tea?"

She smiled. "I would like that, my lord."

He hesitated, his hand extended a trifle, before taking one of her hands and bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of her glove. "Thank you," he breathed. "Just knowing I'll be seeing you again tomorrow… I'll sleep better tonight."

When Robert would have let go of her hand, Cora grasped his tighter. "I'm glad," she said softly as Martha and Isidore returned.

Robert then addressed his in-laws, saying, "I hope it will be acceptable to you both if I join all of you for tea tomorrow? Your daughter has already agreed to it, but I wanted to be sure you wouldn't mind."

Isidore chuckled as he sat down with his drink. His eyes strayed to where Cora and Robert's hands were still clasped between them. "Robert, you don't have to ask. You're always welcome."

"Besides," Martha added, "it's your house."

Shaking his head, Robert fastened his eyes on Cora's. "No, not at the moment. It's your house, the three of you."

"But you _are_ welcome," Cora reiterated, giving his hand a slight squeeze and blushing.

"Thank you." He smiled at her, then turned again to Martha and Isidore. "I should go. I've stayed much too late. I'm sure all of you are tired."

Martha laughed. "Nonsense. Isidore and I are usually up far later than this."

Isidore cleared his throat loudly and hissed, "Martha!"

Cora giggled unexpectedly. "They always say things like that," she explained to Robert. "Although I still haven't made out exactly what they mean."

Reddening a little, very aware of her touch upon his hand, Robert lowered his voice to say, "You'll learn one of these days."

She appeared surprised. "You know what they mean?"

He dropped his eyes, afraid of coloring even more. "Er, yes."

Suddenly, he realized she'd leaned forward to whisper close to his ear. "You'll have to tell me sometime."

Her proximity, paired with the subject – and her seeming innocence of it, at the same time that images of their own late nights swam in his head – threatened to disarm him completely. "One day. But for now, I should wish you goodnight, Miss Levinson." Kissing her hand once more, he stood, sharing one last look with her before saying goodnight to his in-laws and collecting his things at the door.

He traveled back to Painswick House in much better spirits than he'd left it. In fact, he felt happier than he had in days.

* * *

"So, do you think you can make her fall for you twice, brother?" Rosamund sipped a cup of mid-morning tea and glanced at Robert out of the corner of her eye.

Robert looked up from the telegram he'd been drafting for their parents at Rosamund's desk. "Well, I can't just give up, can I? If her memory doesn't return, and she doesn't have a reason to stay, I'm afraid she'll go back to America. I couldn't bear it if she did." He shook his head at his sister, and put down the pen distractedly to finger her rings – the rings that he hadn't once removed from around his neck. "I'd fall to pieces, Rosamund."

"I know," she acknowledged softly, watching him fumble with something beneath his shirt. "What are you doing?"

"Her rings." He slipped his index finger between his collar and neck, hooking it under the chain and twitching the rings out. After showing her, he closed his fist around them, remaining silent.

Rosamund, recognizing that this may be one of the few times that she needed actually to demonstrate the deep affection she had for her brother, rose and stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. "We'll do what we can to keep her here, Robert. And she may very well fall for you a second time. Although I still don't know what possessed her to do so in the first place." She chuckled, hoping to cheer him a bit.

But he merely nodded, his head bowed and his hand holding the rings against his heart. "I don't know either, to be honest. But I've thanked God every day since realizing exactly what she means to me that she did. Even now."

"Oh, dear brother." She squeezed his shoulder. "She's still the same Cora that she was when you met. I can't imagine that her attraction to you could have simply disappeared. She may be fighting against it, and you'll have to continue being patient with her, but it's there. At least, from what you described about last night at dinner, it seems to be." Pressing a quick kiss to his temple, she whispered, "Don't give up," before returning to her place on the settee.

"I won't." Sighing deeply, he held Cora's rings another moment before slipping them back beneath his shirt and returning to the telegram. "Ever," he added under his breath.

* * *

Nervous and fidgety a good hour before the Levinsons would expect him at Grantham House, Robert found himself being kicked out of Rosamund's drawing room.

"You're going to break something, Robert!" Rosamund cried when he'd dropped a third glass upon her carpet. "At the very least you're going to stain my Persian rug!" Sympathetic for him she might feel, but she knew he was going to see her soon, and she couldn't take his pacing and jumpiness. "Please, brother, go for a walk! If you get to Grantham House this excitable, you'll scare the wits out of Cora!"

"Alright," he mumbled, "I'll go." He left, having no idea where he would end up, but making sure his watch was wound and correct before starting out.

Having walked briskly for nearly an hour, only stopping once at a shop, Robert arrived at the door of their London house, about five minutes ahead of time. As he raised his arm to the bell pull, he took a step back, startled by the door opening.

"Oh!" Cora stood at the open portal, blushing furiously. "I didn't expect you to be here already."

Robert smiled. "Well, Rosamund expelled me from the house an hour ago." His eyes darted around a few seconds, as he realized he didn't want to tell her why. He looked at his wife again. "Why are you at the door?"

She colored even more. "I – er – I thought I heard something as I passed by," she said, grinning.

Cora could never lie to him very well. He smiled even wider to think that perhaps she'd been poking her head out of the door every once in a while to see if he might be close. "I hope you don't mind that I brought you some more flowers. I know they last a while, but the ones I sent before may have faded some." He took the bouquet of pink, white, and purple alstroemeria he held in his left hand to pass them to her. "I couldn't help it," he added a bit nervously, unsure if she'd think it was too much again.

But she closed her fingers around the stems and smiled. "Thank you, Lord Downton." She lowered her lashes. After a moment, she appeared to shake herself, and said, "Where have my manners gone? It's cold outside, and I have you standing on the front stoop. Please, do come in." She stepped back to let him pass through.

They joined Martha and Isidore after Cora gave instructions to the butler to have Banks put the flowers in a vase and place them on her dressing table. The four chatted about various things – Margaret and Henry's ball the next evening, the possibility of Martha and Isidore traveling around Europe for a few months now that they were on this side of the Atlantic, tentative holiday plans, and anything else they could think of that might not upset Cora unnecessarily.

Robert had been there over an hour, and everything had been going well, when Isidore said to Cora, "Princess, Mother and I thought we'd take you to the British Museum tomorrow, make a day of it before you go off to the ball in the evening. What do you think?"

Cora's face, which had been bright before, fell. "Oh. I would like to, but I already have an engagement tomorrow afternoon."

Martha picked up another sandwich, examining it. "And what's that, Cora?" She bit into the bread, tomato, and cheese, made a face, then deposited the rest upon her plate.

Worrying her serviette, she murmured, "Sir Alistair asked me to take a walk in Hyde Park with him."

Robert blinked hard at her, unable to believe his ears. But it was Isidore who spoke first. "No."

Cora's eyes flew up. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

Isidore's eyes flashed, reminding Robert of his daughter's when she got angry. He'd rarely seen Isidore in a temper, and it caught him off guard. "I mean 'no,' Cora. No, you cannot walk with that scoundrel – in the park or anywhere else." His voice shook as he uttered the words through gritted teeth.

Standing, Robert took his teacup over to a window. He didn't want to get in the middle, especially after the last time he and Cora had discussed the subject. He knew Isidore would take care of it. As he listened to them argue – Martha also apparently leaving it up to her husband – and watched people stroll along the pavement in front of the house, Robert felt a knot of annoyance build up inside him. While most of it was reserved strictly for Alistair and his blatant disregard of Robert's warning, he would grudgingly admit that some of it was directed at Cora. He couldn't believe that she would completely ignore his counsel. He'd thought she perhaps trusted him again.

But now he wondered.

"Poppa, it's unfair! Why can I not go on a walk with a friend? It's the same as Margaret and I going to Hyde Park together. You're making me feel incompetent and childish." Robert didn't have to turn around to know Cora had set her chin in that stubborn way she had or that her eyes blazed as fiercely as her father's now.

"Fine. _Fine_, Cora. Have your own way. I can't talk to you when you're being this bullheaded." Isidore rose, letting his tea cup clatter into its saucer. "Robert, I apologize, but I have some letters to write. Excuse me."

Robert had barely turned his head to nod at his father-in-law before Isidore vanished from the room.

"Well, I suppose I should go calm him down," Martha sighed, as she, too, rose from her place on the settee. "I'll see you soon, Robert."

"Good afternoon, Martha," he said, turning back to the window. He couldn't look at Cora just yet.

He heard the rustle of her skirts as she got up. Then he lowered his eyes to her hand when she placed it lightly upon his jacket sleeve. "Are you upset too?"

Feeling his anger at her melt away at her touch, he moved his gaze back to the window. "No, of course not," he lied. In a way, he wanted to stay upset at her. She'd said yes to Alistair, hadn't she? He raised his arm, ostensibly to have another sip of his tea, but really to make her pull her hand away.

But she didn't. So, finally, he rested his eyes on her anxious face. He said nothing, not trusting himself to speak without ire.

"You _are_ upset," she stated quietly. "What else was I supposed to do? He invited me, and I had no reason to say no."

"Beyond making your father – not to mention me – uncomfortable?" He turned his face away from her again, feeling renewed irritation bubble up in his chest.

Her fingers curled tighter around his lower arm. "That wasn't my intent. I didn't want to be rude; I've no reason to be. He – he means nothing to me," she stammered.

The tenor of her voice caused Robert's heart to give a leap. He turned to her, her upturned face pleading with him to believe her. His expression softened. "Then might I mean something to you?"

Cora bit her lip, casting her eyes down. "I don't know… yet." She met his eyes. "But _he_ doesn't." She paused. "It's just a walk," she whispered.

Robert couldn't keep his eyes from narrowing. "I would wager my estate and title that he doesn't see it as 'just a walk,'" he growled, averting his gaze.

She sighed. "I'll be cautious, like you said. We'll be in a public place."

Depositing his tea cup onto the window sill, Robert curled his hands into a fist and closed his eyes. "I can't stand to think of your arm through his," he muttered, uncertain if he should admit this, but unable to keep it to himself.

Cora didn't speak, but her fingers remained, burning a brand upon his arm. He could feel her eyes upon his face.

"I should go," he said softly. "I don't want to say anything I might regret later." He started to move away.

"But – I'd hoped you'd ask to escort me to Lady Margaret and Lord Henry's tomorrow night." Her hand fell from his arm as he began to walk toward the drawing room door.

Robert turned to face her. "You did?" He blinked at her in mild disbelief – both that she wanted him to ask her, and that she had told him so.

She nodded and then crossed the distance between them. "So?" she asked expectantly.

Using every bit of energy he had left not to touch her cheek, he replied in a low voice, "May I escort you to Margaret and Henry's tomorrow night?"

"Yes, you may." Suddenly, she grinned. "I should go upstairs and rest a while before dinner. But I have to say how adorable you are when you're a bit jealous." She raised herself up slightly upon her tiptoes in order to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Tomorrow evening, then, Lord Downton."

Robert blinked at her in a dazed manner as she left the room, his cheek burning pleasantly. As he walked to Painswick House, he lifted his gloved hand every few moments to touch the place where her lips had been. With one gesture, Cora had transformed him into the young man who'd marveled at her boldness in walking with him alone in dark gardens and in kissing his cheek before leaving him to go dance with – _Oh!_ he thought, screwing up his eyes at the memory. It had been Alistair she'd gone to dance with. It reminded him of who she'd be walking with in the park tomorrow.

Despite how this genuinely worried him, he couldn't help the spring in his step as he strode down the pavement, feeling as light as he had that first night she'd pressed her lips to his cheek – the night he knew he wanted to court her, that he wanted very much to find out what it would be like to have Cora in his life.

Now that he knew what it was like, he wanted more than anything to never, ever have to let her go.

* * *

"How did it go?" Rosamund flounced in and dropped down on the settee before dinner.

"I think quite well, actually," Robert said, coloring slightly.

"Ah, you're blushing. That means it went better than you're letting on." She chuckled. "No, you don't have to tell me." She leaned over and plucked a small envelope off the table to her right. "This came for you whilst you were out."

Robert took it and opened it awkwardly with one hand. "It's an invitation from Lady Mann. She's planned another supper and dance for a few days from now."

"Yes, I received my invitation before you arrived in London. I think she's just heard of your and Cora's arrival – and the circumstances. I'm sure she sent one to Cora as well. Madeleine wouldn't have left her out."

"I'll see if she wants to go either way." He turned to his sister with a smile. "Rosamund, I'm very hopeful. I'm accompanying Cora to the ball tomorrow night."

Rosamund chuckled. "Then it's a good thing Marmaduke is going too. Otherwise I'd be without an escort." She turned her face toward the door as her husband entered. "Speak of the devil." Getting up, she met Marmaduke at the door, taking his hands in hers, her eyes sparkling at him.

"Who is this devil you speak of, Rosamund?" Marmaduke asked, grinning.

"Why, you of course, darling." She laughed and winked at her brother.

Marmaduke kissed her forehead (the only other person allowed to do this besides her father). "As long as I'm your only devil, then I can accept that."

"The one and only." She grinned up at him with such a devoted look on her face that Robert couldn't help but smile at them. Rosamund had had to fight to marry Marmaduke, and it gratified her brother that he made her happy.

Almost as happy as Cora made him. He closed his eyes and leaned back with his Scotch, letting Rosamund and Marmaduke continue their banter and daydreaming of the next evening.

* * *

"You left off your sling," Cora said when he stepped into the hallway to greet her.

"It's difficult to dance otherwise," he replied, smiling. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Taking his arm, she called out a goodnight to her parents, and Robert did the same.

They settled in the carriage, Robert on one side and Cora on the other.

"You look positively breathtaking, Miss Levinson," he told her.

Even in the soft glow of the lamps, he could see her blush. "Thank you. Banks told me that you liked this dress. Well, after I asked. She doesn't tend to volunteer information, does she?"

"No, she doesn't. But she's been a good lady's maid to you, nonetheless." Robert held his left arm close to his body, gazing at her surreptitiously from beneath lowered lashes.

They sat in silence for several moments before Cora cleared her throat gently and said, "I want to tell you something, Lord Downton."

"Yes?" he focused upon her, as she sounded serious.

She met his eyes squarely. "I didn't take that walk with Sir Alistair today."

Robert felt a huge weight lift. "You didn't?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You were right. It made my father uncomfortable – and you. I was acting out of stubbornness, and it was childish of me." She looked down at her hands, her voice even smaller. "Although I don't remember it, I _am_ married. And I should consider how you feel about things."

His breath caught in his throat. "I'm happy you didn't go. For a number of reasons."

Cora fastened her gaze upon him. "It wasn't worth it. Like I said, he doesn't mean anything to me."

Robert got the distinct impression that this time she might be implying that _he_ – Robert – did mean something to her. His throat closed up and he could do nothing but nod, riding upon a wave of happiness.

At various points throughout the evening, Robert experienced elaborate flashbacks to the first weeks he'd courted Cora. Her shy smiles and – despite these – bold statements, his claiming all her waltzes and being completely dazzled by her wit and charm, her laughter at Margaret's stories…. His heart swelled up in his chest as he watched her dance with their acquaintances, they participated in conversations together with Rosamund and Marmaduke, he sat across from her at supper and exchanged smiles with her, and he brought her glasses of champagne when he noticed she'd become warm.

He could think of only one thing that would have made the evening better: if she were going home with him afterward.

But, since that wasn't to be, he rode with her back to Grantham House, relishing in her smiles and teasing comments as much as he could. He walked with her up the steps to the door, holding her hand in his. "I wondered if you'd received an invitation to Lady Mann's."

"I did. I opened it yesterday after you'd left." She looked up at him expectantly, a soft smile curving her lips.

"Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you, Miss Levinson?"

Cora nodded slowly. "Yes." She leaned forward, whispering close to his ear, "And you might call me 'Cora,' Lord Downton." Pressing another kiss upon his cheek, she gave him a coy glance before disappearing into the house.

"Goodnight, Cora," Robert whispered, once again left dazzled by her.


	7. Tell me a happy memory

"Robert? What's the matter? You're shaking like a leaf." Rosamund accepted the glass of sherry from her brother's trembling hand with concern.

Turning, he smiled at her and kissed her cheek. "You look very beautiful tonight, Rosamund."

"Yes, I know that, but you haven't answered my question." She had a sip of the beverage and waited, her eyebrows high upon her forehead.

"I – it's just everything has been going so well. She let me take her to Hyde Park yesterday, and although there was no flicker of recognition – even by the Boy and Dolphin fountain –"

"Where you proposed?" she interrupted.

Running his hands over his jacket and waistcoat nervously, his fingers lingering at the tiny bump her rings created, he nodded. "Yes, where I proposed. And even though there was no sign that she remembered any of it, she let me take her there, spoke to me, and – oh, Rosamund – I am terrified I'll ruin it all."

Rosamund made a motion with her head while she said, "Well, it's certainly possible you will, Robert."

He glared at her.

"Now, don't scowl at me so, brother. You know I was only teasing."

"Well, please don't. Everything is so uncertain. Cora will let me call her by her name, but she still won't call me by mine. She doesn't really call me anything, actually. I don't know what to make of it. It's almost as if she can't quite make up her mind…." Suddenly he let out a frustrated groan. "I wish she could remember."

Rosamund put a gentle hand upon his. "Robert, I'm sure she wishes the same thing. You've been doing a fine job of being patient with her. My only advice is to continue that way."

Robert gave her a small smile. "I hope I can." His face fell. "You're aware that Sir Alistair is very likely to be there tonight."

"You've mentioned it no fewer than twenty times over the past two days. So, yes, I _am_ aware." She moved away from him, putting her empty sherry glass upon a table. "We'll watch after her, Robert. All of us. Henry and Margaret too."

Nodding his head, Robert passed a hand over his brow, still shaking.

Marmaduke walked in, his entire face lighting up when he saw his wife. "You look radiant, Rosamund." He approached her, taking her hands, then turned to Robert. "The carriage is ready to take you to Grantham House. We'll be just behind you to Lady Mann's, as soon as it returns to collect us." They'd discussed the idea of all going together, but Robert had his reasons for wanting to be alone with Cora on the drive there and back.

"Then I should go now, we don't want to be late. I'll send it back soon; we'll take our own carriage from there." Robert exchanged looks with both his sister and brother-in-law, nodding his head once more before leaving.

Robert stood in the foyer of Grantham House not very much later. "Lady Downton hasn't come downstairs yet. May I take your coat, Lord Downton, so you can wait in the drawing room for her?"

"That won't be necessary," came Cora's voice from the landing. She smiled as she descended the rest of the stairs. "Unless you would like to speak to Mother and Poppa." She paused at the bottom of staircase, her hand resting upon the bannister.

Robert wasn't sure he could move, much less speak to anyone. He stared at her unblinkingly, a deep exhalation after a moment or two indication that he'd been holding his breath. She wore a new dress, ice blue satin with darker blue velvet applique patterns, and the alabaster of her upper arm shone in contrast to the darker evening gloves that reached just above her elbow, the gown being sleeveless. The cut of the bodice and skirt showed off her delicate figure – her tiny waist and gentle curves of her hips and bosom – to excellent advantage and ended in an elaborate train, which Robert knew would hook over her wrist for dancing. A small tiara encircled her dusky curls, arranged in a shiny, elegant coiffure. He almost had to close his eyes as they traveled down her neck to where her necklace of blue stones and diamonds rested against her collarbones. He knew that necklace.

He stood there, just outside the foyer door, gaping, his mouth opening and closing as he attempted to find the right words to tell her how utterly beautiful and captivating she looked. But none of them were right.

Cora crossed the hallway to him, an expression of mild concern upon her countenance. "Are you alright?"

Robert's mind flashed to the first time he attempted to speak to her, remembering that she'd then, too, asked if he was alright. He smiled, finally able to reclaim some of his wits. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine." He lowered his voice. "It's simply that you stunned me, Cora. You are stunning."

She rewarded his compliment with a soft smile and a blush. "Thank you." She turned back toward the drawing room, lifting an arm to indicate the doorway. "I was just going to say goodnight to Poppa and Mother. I'll be only a moment, if you don't want to see them."

"No, no, of course I'll say goodnight to them as well." He couldn't stop grinning at her.

Cora lowered her lashes, the flush spreading down her neck as she turned and lead him into the drawing room. "We're leaving now, Momma, Poppa."

"Princess, you're absolutely gorgeous in that gown!" Isidore kissed both his daughter's cheeks as Robert greeted Martha.

"Oh, Poppa, stop that." She chuckled and looked down at herself, smoothing her hands over her waist.

"It's only true, Cora," Isidore insisted. "Isn't it, Robert?"

Robert walked over to shake his father-in-law's hand, then nodded and fastened his eyes upon Cora. "Yes. It's true."

"Well, thank you both." She bid her mother goodnight, then went to the door, glancing behind her to make sure Robert followed.

"We won't wait up," Martha called out behind them with a chuckle.

Robert caught Cora rolling her eyes as the butler helped her into her evening coat. He grinned to himself and offered her his arm to help her out and into the carriage.

Once more, he sat upon the seat opposite her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. He cleared his throat a little. "That necklace –"

"Oh, it's beautiful, isn't it?" She moved her hand to her throat to touch it, her face glowing in the light from the lamps. "I was pleased I already had something to match this dress, as it's new. I asked Banks what the stones were. They're –"

"Moonstones," he murmured. "Moonstones and diamonds."

Cora looked surprised. "Yes, they are. How did you know?"

He tried not to wring his hands upon his lap, but held her gaze instead. "I know because I gave you that necklace. On our honeymoon. We – I…." He trailed off, not knowing how much to tell her, how much she'd want to know.

"Yes?" she prompted, still running her fingers over the necklace.

"I don't want to push a memory on you, Cora." Robert's statement rang with a sort of sadness.

"Oh," she replied, putting her hand down. "Was it at least a happy memory?" she asked in a soft voice.

He smiled a little, thinking of when he'd given her the necklace. "In a way. It was because of a disappointment for us, and I didn't handle it as well as I should have, and so I gave you the necklace – to cheer you."

"Did it work?"

"I think it did. At least – it appeared that way to me." His smile widened. "Anyway, it looks lovely on you."

"I'm happy you think so."

The warmth of her smile made Robert forget what he was going to say. And he had a feeling that anything he said would not be as important as the look sustained between them until the carriage stopped several moments later. Then Cora lowered her eyes, a renewed blush staining her cheeks.

They said nothing to one another as they left the carriage and entered Lord and Lady Mann's home. They parted to visit their respective dressing rooms, and when they met again in the hallway, he waiting for her to emerge, he caught his breath again – not only at how radiant she looked in the new gown, but at her smile, her eyes that scintillated. Offering her his arm, he brought her into the ballroom, his heart skipping a beat when she squeezed it briefly.

"Robert! Cora!" Margaret waved to them from across the ballroom, evidently not caring that this was fairly unladylike behavior.

The pair met Margaret and Henry somewhere in the middle, exchanged appropriate greetings and compliments, then flagged down a waiter for champagne. Cora and Margaret stepped to the side to discuss their dance cards, and Henry turned to Robert with a grin.

"She seems to be doing better, doesn't she?" Henry asked in a low voice, so Cora wouldn't hear.

"She does, Henry. But I confess that I'm still uncertain about it all. When I was courting her the first time, I knew that I could possibly do something to drive her away. I wanted her to stay, and I wanted to marry her – but I didn't know exactly what I could lose if she left. Now, I do know, and if something happens, if she never regains her memory and decides she'd rather not stay with me…." He took a deep breath and looked down, feeling as near tears as he had in days.

Henry clapped a hand against his back a couple of times. "Robert, try not to think about that. Concentrate on right now." He leaned closer to his friend. "I think I heard Cora tell Margaret that is a new dress?"

"Yes," Robert confirmed, his brow creasing in confusion at the question.

"Well, I don't believe she would have selected and been fitted for something new if she didn't want to please you. Think about that, yes?" Henry lifted his eyebrows briefly before finishing his champagne.

Just then, Robert heard Cora let out a sharp gasp. He turned to her. "What is it?" She simply shook her head, so he turned again to seek out what she and Margaret were staring at. "But that's Rosamund and Marmadu –" He cut himself off as his sister and brother-in-law moved to the side disclosing the person walking in behind them.

Sir Alistair.

Cora pulled Robert aside, her eyes a bit wide, as their friends greeted his sister and brother. "What do I do? He's already leering at me, and I have spaces on my dance card still! I don't want to dance with him." She chanced a look back over her shoulder, and Robert glanced that way as well. She was right; he'd already focused his attention on her, a smirk on his face.

Robert held his hand out for her dance card. "Cora," he whispered, "don't worry. He doesn't have to see your card if you don't want him to. I know you don't like lying, but if it's not full, then you still tell him it is, if you don't want to dance with him." He paused, holding her eyes with his. "You don't want to, do you?" he queried in an even lower whisper.

She shook her head firmly, her eyes remaining on his. "No, I don't."

He didn't ask her why – he wasn't sure he wanted to know why. If she'd remembered the episode, he thought she would have simply said. Otherwise, he would leave it to her to volunteer things rather than ask. He nodded and said, "Let's see here…." He perused her card, noting places where Henry had already been filled in – by Margaret's hand, he was amused to note – and where he'd been written down for the accustomed first dance and the one right after supper. "Well, Marmaduke will fill some of these spaces, and Lord Mann – our host – should account for at least two, and…." He took a deep breath and looked up at her again. "Most of your waltzes are empty."

"Will you – will you take them? You did last time." Her expression beseeched him.

"But, Cora, I wasn't supposed to. I did because I knew Margaret and Henry wouldn't mind. We're at Lady Mann's now, and married couples aren't supposed to dance more than those two." Robert wanted more than anything to put his name down for all of her dances, but he didn't want to embarrass his hostess or his wife.

"They do know I don't remember that, don't they, Robert? Please. It's my favorite, and I'd rather dance it with you." She'd put a hand upon his arm and now blushed beet red.

Robert closed his eyes, thinking his senses might spin completely out of control. Her blush, her pleading eyes, her hand on his sleeve, her admission that she wanted to dance her favorite dance with him, the first time she'd said his name since boarding the train for London so many days before – these all conspired to disarm him entirely. How could he say no to her – especially since all he wanted to do was say yes?

Opening his eyes, he gave her a small smile. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose she might excuse our rudeness." He scribbled his name into all the free waltzes, then handed her the card. "Go ask Marmaduke to fill in most of the rest, Cora. I'm sure he'll dance as many as you'd like. But leave at least two for Lord Mann. It's only polite." He watched her go, her eyes sparkling and her face all gratitude.

Perhaps the evening would go better than he expected after all.

That disaster having been averted, Robert allowed himself to relax a bit. He danced with various acquaintances of theirs, as well as Margaret and Lady Mann, but the only ones he fully enjoyed were those with Cora. A new light had come into her face, one he hadn't seen in a long time. Although he remained vaguely aware of Sir Alistair's eyes upon them – and upon _her_ when she danced with others or congregated with Rosamund and Margaret – Robert wouldn't permit that to ruin his evening. When Alistair had approached Cora to beg a dance or two, she'd politely, but soundly, refused him – her eyes flicking to Robert who stood a little away, but within earshot – utilizing the excuse that her dance card was already full.

And then, for the rest of the night, she appeared to ignore Sir Alistair and his increasingly exasperated stares. He had seemed to work out that Robert had taken the lion's share of her dances for himself.

Robert felt no shame in this.

In fact, he believed it a testament to whom Cora had chosen. Again. But this was exactly what seemed to anger Alistair. And angry he showed himself to be as the evening went on and some of guests began to tire and make their excuses. Robert's arm tightened protectively around Cora's waist as, while they danced, he noticed Sir Alistair's face become red with fury and drink and his expression more openly hostile.

"Robert?" Cora pulled his attention away from Alistair to rest upon her upturned face, and he smiled at her immediately. They'd finished their dance and were catching their breath before Marmaduke would take her hand for the next one. "I need to go get something from the dressing room."

"Would you like me to walk with you?" He didn't want to admit to her that he was starting to become nervous. Glancing about the room, he realized he couldn't locate Sir Alistair anymore.

Cora shook her head and smiled. "I won't be long. Might you get me another glass of champagne while I'm gone?"

"Of course, Cora."

She left him after briefly putting a hand upon his arm, her eyes dancing.

Robert watched her vanish into the hallway, then beckoned to a waiter to bring them two flutes of champagne. The musicians began getting instruments ready, and men found their next partners. Robert affixed his eyes to the entrance and held his breath while his heart constricted – Alistair hadn't returned either.

Marmaduke walked up to his brother-in-law. "Robert, where's Cora? We're engaged for the next dance."

"She went to the dressing room. I – I'll go get her." Robert didn't look at Marmaduke. Whether warranted or not, he had a horrible feeling that something was wrong.

Robert inquired of a woman coming out of the ladies' dressing room whether Lady Downton was in there as well. She shook her head, saying that she hadn't been in the room while she had been. Mumbling his thanks, Robert made his way down the hall. Hearing and seeing nothing, no one, he walked even more quickly back toward the dressing rooms and paused again at the door next to the men's dressing room – a room between it and the ballroom. Lady Mann had appointed this the ladies' resting room, where ladies could come and sit or lie down for a while if they felt faint or tired. Usually this would be a function of the dressing room, but Lady Mann liked giving her guests an even quieter place without disturbance.

However, as Robert stood there, he realized that the resting room was _not_ quiet. In fact, he believed the sounds he heard – strangled, muffled cries – were those of struggle. His heart pounding in his ears now, he wrenched open the door and froze at the sight.

Alistair kissing Cora.

Except, it was she who struggled, pushing her hands ineffectually at his arms and chest as Alistair had one arm wrapped around her waist and his other hand against the back of her head. Within seconds, Robert had taken in the situation and sprung forward. With a fierce growl, he seized the fellow with both hands, pulling him away from Cora by the collar and sleeve, then throwing him back against the wall with such force that a nearby framed photo fell from the wall and hit the table beneath it, the glass shattering.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Robert's nostrils flared, and he stood over Alistair, who had crumpled onto the floor, his hand behind his head in obvious pain. Robert's fists were clenched at his sides, and he fought against the urge to kick the man when he was down. "Get up again so I can sock you in the jaw like last time!"

Alistair glared up at him. "Why – you want my fist in your eye again?"

Robert tensed, ready to pull him up again and punch him in the face. But he felt a small hand clutch his right one and gently tug at him. "Your shoulder, Robert."

Taking several steps back from him, Robert turned his eyes from Alistair to Cora. She shook, but her hold on his hand was firm. "Are you alright, Cora?"

Instead of answering the question, she said, "Don't hurt your shoulder any more. He's not worth it."

Robert felt himself grow red. Kissing his wife – and very much against her will? He was bloody well worth thrashing at the risk of his shoulder. He endeavored to keep himself under control, grinding his teeth in order not to say something that would upset her, but his eyes narrowed involuntarily at the image that kept replaying over and over before him.

"I – I didn't invite him here," she whispered, tears gathering on her lashes. "I didn't invite him here." Her fingers dug into his hand, and she said it several more times before Robert understood that she thought he was upset with _her_ as well as Alistair.

Pressing her hand a little, he softened his gaze. "No, I know, Cora, I know you didn't. Please, you don't have to say it. I know." He lifted his other hand and touched her cheek tenderly, noticing only now that it was already stained with tears – she'd been crying as she struggled with Alistair.

A knot of rage seared its way through his stomach and up all through his chest. He turned his head from Cora and glowered at where Alistair attempted to stand again.

"Yes, get up. Because what I told you at Margaret's dinner was not just an empty threat," Robert snarled.

Again, Cora's voice interrupted. "Please, Robert. Please will you just take me home?"

Her whispered request melted his resolve. He wouldn't even spare another word for Alistair, simply a head shake at what a pathetic being he was. With that, Robert grasped Cora's hand firmly and turned to lead her from the room.

Except she stopped unexpectedly with a sharp gasp. In the next second he felt her pull her hand away. He spun around, confused. But he understood the instant he saw Sir Alistair on his feet, his hand wrapped around her right wrist.

"Let go of me!" she cried out. Before Robert could even blink, she'd wrenched her arm away from Alistair and delivered a sharp blow to his face. Both Robert and Alistair gaped at her. Her eyes fixed Alistair with a steely blue stare. "Don't you _ever_ touch me again. Or I will let Robert carry out whatever he threatened."

Robert's gape turned into a look of supreme pride as she took his arm and steered him toward the door. He knew for a fact how forcefully she could strike someone, and he wagered that Alistair would remember a smack from his wife even longer than he'd remember a punch from himself.

As they went to say a hurried goodnight to their friends, Robert shaking his head at them to stop them from asking why they were leaving so early, and to their hostess (Robert telling her that repair bills for any damage to her resting room should be sent directly to him), Cora clung to his hand. They parted briefly to retrieve their coats from the dressing rooms, Margaret insisting on going with Cora, since she could tell something was amiss. The pair left her in the foyer, Cora much quieter than usual and her trembling having returned in full force.

He sat next to her in the carriage, at her gentle request, her hand griping his tightly. Robert, unsure what to say, didn't say anything. Instead, they spent the rest of the drive in silence, Robert helping her alight from the carriage and going inside with her, nervous to leave her in such a state.

Kissing her hand at the bottom of the stairs, Robert watched Cora ascend them, wondering what to do next. He wandered into the library and poured himself a Scotch, moving his left arm about gingerly to see how much damage he might have done in pulling Sir Alistair away from Cora. Not that it mattered.

Throwing back almost half of the Scotch, sitting down, Robert's mind went back to what he'd seen when he'd entered the room – how Cora struggled and how roughly Alistair held her. Robert's brows drew together thunderously as he drank.

Something else struck him. She'd never really told him if she was alright. He could see for himself that she was shaken up, but if that miserable, contemptible fiend hurt her….

Finishing his Scotch, Robert set down the glass and went upstairs. He knew Banks would not be through yet, so he waited a little way down the corridor from Cora's room, to watch for when Banks would leave her mistress.

When the maid finally appeared, closing the door carefully behind her, Robert met her. "Banks, is her ladyship well?"

Banks tilted her head at him curiously, but did not ask anything. She merely said, "She's had a shock, if you ask me, Lord Downton, but she appears perfectly well otherwise."

Robert let out a slow breath of relief. "No bruises that you saw?"

A pucker appeared in the maid's forehead. "No, my lord. None that I noticed."

"Good, good. You may go now, Banks. Thank you."

Banks spared one last questioning glance at him before making her way back downstairs again.

Robert stood there, running his fingers through his hair, wondering what to do. He felt strongly that he couldn't just go, but he feared that his knocking on her door when she probably supposed he'd already gone back to Painswick House might put him back in her bad books. He sighed, conflicted.

Remembering how tightly she'd clutched his hand in the carriage, how much she shook, he made a decision. If she kicked him out of the house again in anger, then so be it.

He went in through his dressing room and knocked softly on the dividing door. "Cora?" he ventured, not wanting to startle her, but knowing he probably already had. "It's Robert."

"One moment," came Cora's voice from the other side. He knew she was assuming her dressing gown, and then she opened the door. "I thought you'd gone," she said, but she looked relieved.

"I was going to – but I found I couldn't without making sure you're alright." He paused, watching her lower her eyes. "You _are_ alright, aren't you?" he asked gently.

Cora nodded, lifting her eyes to his. "I am alright. Simply unnerved." She dropped her eyes to her hands. "And slightly ashamed."

"Ashamed? Why on earth should you be ashamed?"

"I should have been able to stop it, to prevent it." She seemed near tears.

Robert shook his head vehemently. "No. Don't say that. You did nothing to encourage him, and even if you had, a gentleman lets go of a lady if she's displeased with his attentions."

"You did warn me he wasn't a gentleman." She looked up at him, starting to shake once more.

"Cora," he said softly. "Never mind that now. It's all done with. Is there anything I can do for you? And if you'd like me to go, I will."

"No, please. Don't go." She tossed a glance behind her at the bed. "Is there somewhere we can go to talk? Where we won't be disturbed?"

Nodding, understanding her unease at asking him into her room, Robert held out his hand. "There is."

It attested to how much her trust in him had grown that she said nothing, simply slipped her hand into his and followed him through the dressing room and out the door into the hallway. Robert led her into their upstairs sitting room, pausing to light a few of the lamps, feeling Cora watch him as she went to sit upon the settee.

"Will this do?" he asked tentatively. "I can pour you a drink if you wish; we keep a few things up here."

"I think I could do with a little something, in fact." She gave him a small smile.

"Sherry?"

"Please."

Robert walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured his wife a sherry. Deciding he'd had enough downstairs, he left the Scotch untouched. He handed her the drink with a smile and turned to sit in one of the chairs.

"Robert?" Getting his attention, she gestured next to her. "Will you sit with me?" She took a sip of her sherry, her hands still shaking.

So he sat down next to her, leaving a generous amount of space between them. Not knowing what to say, he remained silent.

For a few moments, Cora kept quiet too, drinking her sherry and apparently trying to calm herself. Then, she spoke. "You said something back there – during the –" She closed her eyes briefly before going on. "You said that you'd punched him before? And he punched you as well?"

"I'm not proud of that, Cora. But, yes, it happened."

"What made you punch him before?" When he didn't answer, she said, "I want to know," and leaned forward to rest her hand on his arm.

Robert sighed, focusing his eyes on her hand. Without thinking, he ran his fingers across the back of it, lingering over her bare ring finger, as he told her. "He propositioned you, wanted to be your lover. We'd been married for a few months, but you were still a little unsure of me, and I was frightened you would say yes to him. I overheard him ask. But when he tried to touch your face, after you'd told him no, I snapped and punched him on the jaw."

"I didn't think the 'run-ins' you'd mentioned were quite that dramatic." She didn't move her hand. In fact, his touch seemed to soothe her; she trembled less.

"Well," he said in a low voice. "I didn't want to burden you with those sorts of memories. Besides, I wasn't sure you were ready to believe me."

Cora gave him a smile. "I most certainly believe you now." Then her face grew serious. "Might you tell me a happy memory? A happy memory of us?"

"You're sure?" His hand stilled upon hers, resting there.

She nodded, taking another sip of sherry, the smile returning to her face.

"There are so many, it's difficult to pick just one." Robert began to smile too, thinking of their life together. His mind went back to their discussion of her necklace earlier in the evening, which reminded him again of their honeymoon. "I remember taking you to Nice for our honeymoon. We were there three weeks. And the first night – you seemed surprised, actually – we went into the resort ballroom to dance. You wore a scarlet dress, and I couldn't take my eyes off you. Margaret and Henry ran into us there – they honeymooned there as well, the first leg of a European tour for them – and I danced with Margaret as well as you that first night, but it wasn't the same, twirling her around the floor. I wanted you in my arms."

Suddenly, Robert, whose eyes had wandered away from her face, felt her lift his right hand and wrap his right arm around her as she slid closer and nestled her head against his shoulder. Within moments, her shaking had ceased completely. Robert thought his heart would stop, and he dared not even breathe in the fear of waking from this dream. He looked down at her dark hair, holding himself back from bending his head to kiss hers. She continued to cling to his hand, her breathing soft.

"What else?" she prompted gently, shaking Robert out of his reverie.

"Oh, um…." He grasped at another memory. "When I told you I loved you." Robert chuckled. "In fact, it was partly because of that blaggard Alistair that I finally realized it."

Cora pressed his hand. "That was a few months into our marriage, you said." She said this very quietly.

"Yes. It was." He sighed deeply. "I didn't know how to feel or how to behave exactly before that. It's one of the few things I truly regret in my life. That I didn't see it sooner." He wanted so much to stroke her hair, but he kept himself still.

"But I loved you, didn't I?"

He nodded. "From the beginning." Robert frowned a bit. "But how did you know that?"

"I read those letters. Not at first; I brought them with me. It was only after Margaret had visited me a few times that I read them. But they gave me a few hints about things." She finished her sherry, and Robert held his hand out for the glass, so he could put it on the table on his other side.

"Cora, I know those first months weren't easy for you. I think I realize now even more how you felt. To love someone so much and not feel like you can be open with it. It's a deep ache that seeps into your very bones." His voice was sad.

"Oh, Robert, I'm so sorry," she whispered, nuzzling her head a bit into his shoulder.

He shook his head, gazing ahead of him and, without realizing, put his other hand upon her hair. "It's not your fault, Cora." Robert blinked back tears, even as he still reveled in having her nestled against him, that he could comfort her at least that much after her ordeal of the evening.

After sitting that way a while in silence, Cora whispered, "Tell me another memory, a happy one. Please?"

Robert closed his eyes for a few seconds, then stroked his fingers gently over her hair, casting his mind about for another memory. "I remember our first kiss. It was near the end of another ball, during the Season. We'd known one another for several weeks, and we were walking in the garden that night. You sat me down and asked me what it was like to be kissed." He grinned.

Cora twisted her head a bit to look up at him. "I did?" she said in mild surprise.

"You did," he confirmed, nodding and gazing down into her wide blue eyes. "I had a difficult time believing you hadn't been kissed before."

"Well, I haven't. At least…." she trailed off, lowering her lashes.

A renewed sense of fury at Sir Alistair – and at himself – rose up in Robert. "I'm sorry, Cora. I wasn't thinking when I kissed you before. You were right to hit me."

"I wasn't thinking so much about you, as –" She cut herself off with a shudder. "I can't imagine wanting to be kissed again. Not that yours was long enough to really experience, Robert, but the other…." She began to shake again, pulling herself away and turning upon the settee to face him. "It was vile, revolting." Cora shook her head. "It is a good memory? Our first kiss?"

Robert's face went through a number of changes during this last speech. He went from consternation to guilt to anger to sorrow that she didn't know what it was like – again. "Yes. It's a wonderful memory. The difference being – you wanted to be kissed, Cora." He smiled. "You asked me if I knew how, and, when I said I did, you asked me to show you, because you wanted to know what it would be like to kiss me. So I did."

"And I liked it?" He nodded, his expression sincere. "Doesn't it get old? After a while?"

"Cora, every kiss I've ever shared with you carries with it the same excitement for me as the first. Every one." He heaved a deep sigh, longing to have her in his arms again.

Then, quite unexpectedly, she moved closer to him on the settee, searching his eyes with hers, taking his hand again. "Might you show me again, Robert? I – I'd like to erase the other, if I can. Please?"

"Are you sure?" he asked, slightly dizzy from her proximity – the scent of her perfume and the gentle pleading in her eyes, her voice.

"You said it was a good memory. I need a good memory now." Cora sounded exactly as he knew her – if something bad had happened, she wanted to replace it with something better, something nicer. "Please," she murmured once more.

Robert nodded. "Of course," he whispered. He touched her cheek, noting that still she trembled. Leaning closer, he captured her lips in a tender kiss, careful to go slowly, to let her get used to the feel of his lips upon hers. She tasted of sherry and smelled exactly as he remembered. He felt her hand upon his neck, and her soft sigh rang pleasantly in his ears. As he perceived that she'd settled comfortably into this initial contact, he grazed his thumb over her cheek and parted her lips gently, kissing her more deeply, but still with caution. After she'd sighed again, her fingers playing with his hair at the nape of his neck now, he ended the kiss, pulling away with reluctance, but unwilling to press his luck.

He watched her open her eyes again, a smile wreathing her lips. Her shaking had stopped. "Well, that was neither vile nor revolting," she said in a low voice. "Thank you."

Continuing to rub his thumb over her cheekbone, he smiled in return. "You're welcome."

"Was it just as exciting for you as our first one?" she ventured, looking down and blushing.

"Yes. Every bit, Cora." Robert glanced at the clock. "Perhaps I should go. It's very late." He knew he needed to go before he was tempted to sweep her up and take her into the bedroom, something he was certain would not go over well and would destroy everything he'd built with her in the past several days.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "I had hoped you would stay and tell me more of what you remember."

"Cora, I –"

"Unless you're tired, Robert. I know I'm being selfish." She blushed again.

"No, it's alright, I'll stay," he said, probably against his better judgment.

But as Cora curled up against him once more, his arm around her and her hand grasping his, asking to hear more, Robert knew, without a doubt, that this – being close to her, getting to finally hold her as he'd wanted to for at least a fortnight – this was more than enough for now. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he related stories of their life, he thought, _Yes. It's more than enough for now._


	8. I would marry you a thousand times

At first, when Robert woke in the wee hours of the morning, he thought he must be dreaming. Cora had curled herself into his side, his arms wrapped around her. She slept, peaceful and beautiful as an angel, her toes peeping out from beneath her dressing gown where she'd pulled her legs up onto the settee.

His heart swelled up with happiness to realize it wasn't a dream.

They'd talked for several hours before falling asleep together. Robert peered at the clock in the dim light from the lanterns. Four o'clock. Gazing down upon Cora lovingly, he stroked her hair back from her brow and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. As smoothly as possible, he extricated his arms from around her and, keeping her upright as he stood, slid his left arm underneath her knees, lifting her from the settee. Although he did his best to shift as much of her weight to his right arm, he winced a trifle at the frisson of pain in his still mending shoulder.

As he fumbled with her bedroom door knob, she stirred. "Robert?" she whispered sleepily.

"Shhh, Cora. Go back to sleep. I'm putting you in bed." He opened the door successfully and pushed it closed quietly with his foot.

"Are you leaving?" she persisted as Robert lay her on the bed and helped her pull the covers up over her dressing gown.

Robert took her hand and pressed it. "It's very early in the morning, and I should go back to Rosamund's."

"Don't go," she mumbled. "Stay here." Cora lifted her other hand, stretching it out toward him. He grasped it, bringing it to his lips and kissing it.

"I shouldn't." It took everything in him not to crawl into bed beside her that instant, to envelope her in his arms and fall asleep with her spooned up against him. "I shouldn't have stayed _this_ late."

She blinked her eyes fiercely, endeavoring to stay awake. "Don't leave me." It was almost inaudible, but the words brought Robert back to the first nights he'd spent with her – actually sleeping with her – and how he'd finally understood part of her loneliness in their first months of marriage. He'd vowed never to leave her alone at night again if she wanted him there. An intense struggle went on in his mind, but, in the end, her plea won out.

"No, I won't leave, Cora. Not if you want me to stay."

Her eyelids drooped. "Stay," she uttered, squeezing his hands weakly.

Kissing each of her hands again, Robert released them and turned out the lamp by her bedside. He didn't need light in a room that had been theirs when in London for well over a year. So, in the darkness, he walked around the bed and rid himself of his shoes, depositing them carefully out of the way beneath a chair. Loosening his cravat, he lay this and his jacket and waistcoat across the back of it. Then he slid under the bedclothes, doing just as he'd wanted to do: slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her close as she murmured slightly in her sleep, he pressed his chest to her back and nuzzled his face into her neck. Intoxicated by her familiar, marvelous scent, he placed a few kisses along her shoulder before he rested his head down, breathing her in as he hadn't been able to since before the accident.

Robert slept more soundly than he had in weeks.

That is until a woman's screech woke him most rudely, and he realized Cora was jumping out of his arms and off the bed. "What?" he muttered sleepily. "What's the matter?" He sat up on his elbow and watched in confusion as she drew her dressing gown tighter around herself, her eyes wide with shock and – was it fear? Or – more likely – anger?

"Why are you in my bed?" she squawked, backing away toward the armoire.

Robert glanced down at his wrinkled shirt and trousers, then back up at her. "Cora, you asked me to stay." He didn't know any other answer.

She'd begun breathing hard. "Yes, but I thought you would sleep in your own room." Pointing toward the dressing room door, she threw her braid behind her shoulder before hugging her arms around herself protectively. "Or even perhaps a chair in here. Not in my bed. Not – not like that," she faltered, her expression perplexed now, as well as furious and astounded.

Sighing deeply, Robert got up and went to the chair where his things were laid out. "I apologize. I suppose now I'm no better than Sir Alistair." His voice was heavy with pain, and he couldn't look at her. Instead, he slid his cravat around his neck and shrugged on his waistcoat, slowly buttoning it.

"No, Robert. Please don't say that," she whispered. He heard her choke on a stifled sob, and he turned to look at her.

But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He didn't know what to say. Because she was right. He'd made a presumption – and it was a mistake. Bending his head once more to his task of dressing, he took a long breath and let it out gradually.

Suddenly he felt her hand upon his jacket sleeve. She'd noiselessly come around the bed and tilted her head up to look into his face. "You are not like Alistair. I – I overreacted. And now it's me who should apologize to you."

"Cora, it was just a misunderstanding. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable; it wasn't my intention." He stood, frozen, his eyes locked with hers.

"I know." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, and his eyelids fluttered closed at her act of contrition.

Plucking out his pocket watch, Robert noticed it was around nine. "I should go. It's late, and your maid will be up here any moment."

"Oh. I understand." She sounded almost disappointed. "I – we'll still have our walk in the park today, won't we?"

Robert pulled away from her to sit and put on his shoes. "Of course, Cora." He kept his eyes on his laces.

"I _am_ sorry, Robert," she repeated, her voice small.

"Never mind," he said. "It's my own fault." Standing, he quickly brushed his lips over her cheek and strode toward the door. "I'll call for you this afternoon," he threw out behind him. A lump of pain had formed in his chest, and he couldn't look at her again for fear that it would end in tears.

* * *

"Brother dear, Marmaduke said you didn't show up for breakfast." Rosamund swept down the stairs as Robert approached them. She studied him with an upturned eyebrow. "But perhaps that's because you're just getting in." One glance from him proved her hypothesis correct. But his face also held a trace of sadness. "What happened last night? You left so hurriedly, and now you're just getting in? Please, come tell me."

Rosamund latched onto his right arm and tugged him toward the drawing room.

"I don't really want to talk about it," he mumbled. It was a lie. He wanted – and needed – to talk about it. He simply wasn't certain he could without breaking down.

"Come now, Robert. You'll feel better after you've talked things over with me." It didn't take much prodding for her brother to allow her to guide him into the drawing room and sit him onto a chair. She poured him a Scotch – despite the early hour – and handed it to him. Sitting next to him, she waited in silence for him to begin.

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Robert stared into the glass in his hands. He didn't think he could take seeing her reactions as he related the events of the evening and morning. And he did tell her everything – except for the kiss. _That_ was too personal, too intimate, and too painful now for him to disclose, even to his sister. Rosamund, sensing that Robert needed to unburden himself in an uninterrupted narrative, kept uncharacteristically still and quiet. When he arrived at the conclusion, how he'd left Cora's room, she leaned forward as well and put her hand on his shoulder, noting his untouched Scotch. It wasn't the drink he'd needed.

"It doesn't seem to me that it ended so badly, Robert," she volunteered softly. "She said she'd overreacted, made sure that you would call round Grantham House for your walk later. How is that bad?"

Finally, he turned and fixed his eyes on hers. "Because, Rosamund. It seems every time I think we've made progress, I do something to put her off again. I think we've gone a certain distance, and she proves to me once more that I'm overestimating how much. After last night, everything that happened, how she tucked herself against me…." He shook his head, peering down into his glass and closing his eyes against unwanted tears. "I thought perhaps that if at least she didn't remember, she might have –" He caught his breath, amazed at how ridiculous he felt.

"You thought she'd fallen for you," Rosamund finished in a low voice. At his nod, observing his eyes squeezed tight shut, she went on. "Robert, you _do_ realize why she reacted the way she did this morning, don't you? She's not used to finding you – anyone – in her bed with her. Even finding _you_ there – the man to whom she logically knows she's married – must have frightened her out of her wits."

"I know," he conceded. "I should have left. Or just gone back to sleep on the settee with her."

Rosamund sighed. "You can't concentrate on these little setbacks, brother. You _have_ made progress. And she hasn't told you to stay away, has she?"

He shook his head, feeling a bit of hope rising up in his chest. "You're right. I can't expect her to be where I am overnight."

"Exactly." His sister smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "You must soldier on, Robert. You've been very patient with her, and I think it's reaping results." She stood and pried the full Scotch glass from his hands. "Now, I recommend going and getting a nice hot bath and changing clothes. We'll have luncheon, and then, dear brother, you will have another chance to show her how willing you are to go at her pace."

"Thank you, Rosamund. For all of it. You're a good sister." He got up and kissed her cheek before departing for his room.

Rosamund's eyes followed him out. She sighed. "I do hope Cora gets her memory back soon. I can't stand to see the toll this is taking on him," she said to herself, shaking her head and bringing the glass back to the drinks cabinet. Spiky she might be, but it pained her to see her brother so despondent.

* * *

Robert called over at Grantham House at their agreed upon time. Cora smiled at him and took his arm so they could go for their walk in the park, but neither said very much to the other as they strolled down the pavement. Every movement, every touch, every word seemed hesitant, stilted between them. Robert knew why he acted this way, trying to consider her feelings, but he wasn't sure why she acted thus. He contemplated simply asking her, but, after that morning, wasn't certain he could.

So, he did the only thing he could think to do: he kept talking to her about whatever she wished. He guided her around the park with her arm through his, maintaining a prudent distance from her. And he endeavored to make her comfortable again, even as uncomfortable as he felt himself.

"Robert?" came Cora's voice after about an hour. "Might we find a place to sit down? These are new shoes, and they pinch more than I thought they would."

"Certainly we can, Cora." But his chest constricted and her rings seemed to burn into his skin when he realized they were near the Boy and Dolphin fountain – the closest place to sit down. He would have to bear it; he couldn't make her walk any farther if her feet hurt.

Taking a deep breath, he sat with her on one of the open benches near the fountain and looked around. He'd brought her here before, so he wasn't fool enough to think it would spark anything in her memory now. But images of his proposal flooded his own mind, as clear as they'd happened on that day, and he couldn't stop them. He closed his eyes and bent his head down, biding them to cease tormenting him. His happiest memories now haunted him.

"Is something wrong, Robert?" Cora inquired.

"No, Cora," he said, looking up with a pained smile.

"Good," she replied. Then she took his hand and sighed deeply. "I have to tell you something." She looked down after making sure he was listening. He waited. "I've decided to go with Mother and Poppa to Europe."

Robert blinked his eyes rapidly, wondering if he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"I'm going with Mother and Poppa to Europe." She lifted her eyes, and suddenly Robert knew why she'd been hesitant before.

He still couldn't quite believe his ears. "But why? When?"

Cora lowered her eyes again, resting them upon their hands. "Tomorrow. And I think you know why."

"Tomorrow?" Robert pulled his hand away, tears in his eyes. "And, no, I don't know why."

"Please, Robert, don't make this any harder for me," she intoned softly, drawing her hand back to herself.

He opened and shut his mouth, gaping at her. "Why shouldn't I? You're my wife. How can you just leave me?"

"But that's just it." She shook her head, tears gathering upon her lashes, her voice in earnest that he understand. "I know I'm your wife, but I don't know how to _be_ your wife. You have all these memories, memories I don't share. You remember our courtship and our wedding day, our honeymoon, and everything else. I don't have these."

Robert slid closer to her on the bench, unmindful of the wetness of his cheeks, and took her hand in both of his. "So we'll make new memories. We'll have another honeymoon, another wedding. I would marry you a thousand times if that's what it took to convince you to stay with me."

"Please, don't. That's not all of it. If it were, then maybe…." She looked away again. "I feel like I'll never quite catch up to where you are. You look at me and you see _her_. I can see it on your face sometimes, and, as ludicrous as I know it to be, it makes me sad, because I don't know who she is. I don't know how to be her." She wiped at her tears distractedly. "I recognize that you're doing your best not to expect me to be her, but there will always be things, times like this morning, and I realize how much I hurt you." Her eyes met his. "I can't keep hurting you. I know you only a little, but I do know I don't want to hurt you. So I have to go."

Struggling to suppress the sobs that built up in his chest, Robert whispered, "Don't you – might you love me? At least a little?"

Cora gave a tiny shrug, whispering in return, "I don't know."

Being in a public place, even being scarcely aware of the people walking by them, was the only thing keeping Robert from falling completely apart. "Please, Cora, please. Don't leave me." The winter air couldn't turn his cheeks cold, his tears fell so steadily now. He clutched her hand, his head bowed and his eyes shut.

"I have to. I can't stay here and pretend that everything is fine. And I can't bear to hurt you. I need time, Robert. Time alone. Please, I don't _want _to leave; I _have_ to." She took great gulps of air between phrases, her speech broken by her attempts to stay as calm as possible, Robert realized.

Picking up her hand, he pressed it to his heart. "I can't bear to be without you. My sweetheart."

Cora neither moved nor spoke. Robert raised his head slowly, taking in her glistening eyes and wet cheeks, and he knew she didn't speak because she couldn't. They stayed like that for untold minutes, gazing at each other with such a profound sadness. Finally, Robert's tears dried up – even if he'd wondered if they would ever end – and Cora tore her eyes away.

"I'll take you home," Robert whispered, letting go of her hands.

She nodded, standing and waiting to take his arm once more. Robert felt her lean into him more than she had earlier, and it tore at his heart. But he let her. It was an impossible situation they found themselves in. One way or another, one of them – or both of them – were bound to be hurt.

When they arrived at the door of Grantham House, Robert gently extracted her arm from around his and faced her, holding her hand. "May I be allowed to say goodbye to you at the port tomorrow?"

"I don't think it's a good idea, Robert," Cora replied.

He simply nodded. "Then I suppose this is goodbye."

"For now," she added quietly. "Goodbye for now."

Robert's eyes lingered over hers. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he leaned forward and kissed her upon the mouth, unable to go from her without at least this one thing. Cora didn't pull away or stiffen, but neither did she respond with the sort of enthusiasm she'd shown the night before. As he ended the kiss, he murmured, "I love you, Cora. I will always love you. Goodbye."

Without waiting for a response, Robert released her hand and spun around, ascending the stairs and hastening down the pavement toward Painswick House, his heart thumping wildly against her wedding rings, and his vision blurred from tears.

* * *

Robert heard voices in the hallway not long after tea. He had been completely silent since getting back to Painswick House. Any time Rosamund asked him anything, he merely shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. Of course, she'd been concerned, but, without knowing what went on or why he wouldn't speak, there wasn't much she could do. They took their tea in silence, Rosamund growing more anxious by the minute, particularly since she observed signs that he'd been crying. Then they sat there – Robert having no inclination to leave his place on his chair, Rosamund hoping to smoke him out. But his lips remained sealed and his eyes stared blankly at some vague place on the carpet.

The voices didn't rouse him. Rosamund had left the room a few moments before at the announcement from the butler that there was a "visitor" for her, but neither this, nor her exit registered with Robert. He stayed rooted to the spot, his gaze never lifting from the floor. The voices in the corridor were nothing more to him than indistinct insect buzzings in his ear. He had no interest in them. His mind continued spinning, like a top, the only clear point, upon which everything else pivoted, being Cora's tear-stained face.

Then, Rosamund returned. Isidore Levinson followed behind her.

"Robert, I – I'm so sorry." Isidore waited for Rosamund to resume her place, then sat across from his son-in-law, who didn't look up.

"Isidore told me what happened, Robert. At least, as much as he knows." She shared a glance with Cora's father.

Robert said nothing.

"I tried to talk her out of it. Martha and I both did. She was adamant about going – and right away if it was possible. She said if we didn't go with her, she would go alone, and we couldn't have that. She's still in such a fragile state." Isidore paused. "Robert, she kept going on about how she couldn't hurt you anymore and how confused she was."

When Robert persisted in his silence, Rosamund said softly. "I'll pour us a drink, shall I, Isidore?"

Isidore nodded forlornly, sighing. It wasn't long until he and Rosamund each had a drink, and she'd left one on the table at her brother's elbow – just in case he decided to join them.

"Robert, you have to say something sometime," Rosamund nudged.

"What is there to say?" he whispered finally, his voice hoarse. "She's leaving. She doesn't love me, and she's leaving."

Grunting, Isidore swirled his drink around a bit. "You don't know that, Robert. How do you know that she isn't just overwhelmed? That she loves you but she doesn't quite realize it yet?"

Rosamund, taking a dainty sip of Scotch, raised her brows. "It actually sounds like someone I know."

Robert lifted his head and stared at her. "That was different."

"I don't see how," was her rejoinder, her brows still high. "You always maintained that you loved Cora far longer than you knew – and I saw it in you months before you recognized it."

"What does it matter now? She'll be gone." He reached for the glass beside him and took a long drink, wiping his eyes.

Isidore shook his head. "Robert, sometimes we run away so we can see if someone will follow us. Even if we're not aware of it ourselves."

"No." Robert shook his head more vehemently than Isidore had. "No. She wants to be left alone. When I followed her here…." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I can't have her look at me like that again. I think it might kill me."

"Brother, you're being very dramatic," Rosamund pointed out.

Robert turned an irritated expression upon her. "Am I? Am I being dramatic, Rosamund? You put yourself in my place and let me tell _you_ that."

Rosamund shrank back a little, startled at his tone. "I apologize, Robert. It was insensitive of me."

"No, I didn't mean to snap at you," he said softly. He gulped down another large helping of Scotch.

Isidore looked between the siblings, watching this exchange. "Robert, I wanted to tell you our plans for the next week or so. Just – just in case you change your mind."

"I won't, Isidore. Like you said, it's what she wants." He sounded utterly defeated.

"Well, I'll still tell you. We'll take the boat to Paris and stay a couple of days. Then the train to Nice. I – Martha and I – thought it might do something to help her memory if we stayed at the same resort at which the two of you honeymooned." Isidore drained the rest of his Scotch.

Robert nodded wearily. "Thank you for telling me, Isidore." He made steady eye contact with his father-in-law. "I know you two will take good care of her."

"As we have most of her life – and you have the past two years." Isidore appeared on the verge of tears. "Robert, I'll send telegrams. At least one a day… let you know how she is, if she remembers anything. I don't like being the one to take her from you. You're a good man and a fine husband for my daughter. I hope you don't resent me for doing as she bids."

"Of course not, Isidore. The doctor told us to follow her lead. And this is her choice. I can't help wishing it had turned out differently." He blinked rapidly.

"I wish it too, Robert. I do." Taking a deep breath, he stood. "I should go. I don't want Cora to know I've been here."

Robert rose from his chair, putting down his glass. "Safe travels, Isidore." He wrung his father-in-law's hand.

Isidore nodded. "I'll keep in touch, son," he replied. "Don't forget to take care of yourself as well. Martha and I care about you – even if Martha doesn't always show it."

"Thank you, sir," Robert said, taking a deep breath to guard against tears.

"Rosamund, make sure he does take care of himself?" Isidore kissed her cheek warmly.

"You know I will, Isidore." She gave him a small smile. "Give Cora a kiss for me, and give Martha my regards."

"I will do that." Isidore turned to include them both. "Farewell. I'll keep Cora safe, Robert."

Robert could do no more than incline his head in acknowledgement at this point. They watched Cora's father disappear into the hallway.

Rosamund came over to Robert's chair and placed a gentle hand upon his arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't," he whispered, staring down at the carpet again, shaking his head. "I couldn't form the words. It had to be a bad dream, a nightmare. I just – couldn't – couldn't –" Robert choked on the lump rising in his throat. He closed his eyes.

The dressing gong sounded. "Robert? Time to dress for dinner."

"No," he murmured. "You go. I'm not hungry."

"Robert, please, you heard what Isidore said."

"No," he repeated in an even fainter voice. "Leave me here."

Rosamund heaved a deep sigh. "As you like, brother dear." She leaned down to kiss his cheek. "I'm sorry things have taken this turn."

He nodded, opening his eyes, but focusing them upon the rug again.

At the door of the drawing room Rosamund paused and turned around. "Robert, you can stay with us as long as you need. Marmaduke and I don't mind."

A strangled sob was the only reply. She vanished, leaving him as he'd wished.

* * *

The clock had struck a quarter till midnight when Rosamund wandered back into the drawing room. She'd gone to his room to check on him, but when she opened the door, he wasn't there.

Robert had moved from the chair to the settee, and he lay there upon it, apparently sound asleep. Rosamund quietly put a tray with a few covered dishes upon the low table in front of the settee, in case he woke and felt like eating. Then she went around the room, turning the lamps down very low – something a footman would normally do, but she'd decided to do it that night.

Retrieving a warm blanket from one of the more comfortable chairs by the fireplace, Rosamund folded it gently around her brother. She bent down and brushed her lips over his temple, whispering, "Goodnight, dear brother."

About to go, she stopped when she felt Robert's hand slip into hers. His lashes fluttered open, revealing red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you, Rosamund," he whispered.

Pressing his hand, she murmured, "It's not the end, Robert."

She marveled at how quickly tears gathered upon his lashes. "Then how come it feels like it is?" he replied simply.

Unsure how to respond, Rosamund pressed another kiss to his cheek and whispered, "Go back to sleep, dear brother. Things will look better in the morning."

"She says that too." Robert heaved a pronounced miserable sigh.

"Then you must listen to her. And to me. It's not the end."

Sniffling, feeling tears course over the bridge of his nose and into his hair, Robert curled himself up tighter beneath the blanket as he watched Rosamund's disappearing silhouette.

He whispered once more, "Then how come it feels like it is?"


	9. A man who has been shattered

That first day, after Robert trudged upstairs, he had Masterman dress him in his night clothes when he normally would be changing into a fresh suit for the day.

Robert didn't care that it was day. A perpetual night filled his senses as soon as Cora had said she was leaving.

Refusing to allow Masterman to bring up any food, as he had no appetite whatsoever, Robert watched the door shut behind the valet and then flopped on his stomach across his bed in one of Rosamund's decadent guest rooms. His eyes strayed to the small photograph of Cora upon the bedside table. Stretching his left arm out, he gently turned the photo around so her sepia-toned face couldn't stare at him. He flinched at the jolt of pain from his shoulder.

Sighing, he got up and found one of the slings the doctor had fashioned for him. He realized he'd not been as careful with his arm as he should have been over the past several days. Since he didn't anticipate doing anything but sleeping for a while, he figured it wouldn't hurt to keep the arm in its sling.

As he brought the fabric over his head, Robert's fingers brushed over the chain around his neck. Having fixed the sling into its proper place, he twitched the rings from beneath his night shirt and stared at them for a long time.

He couldn't even cry anymore. There was nothing left in him.

Closing his fist around the rings, he took a deep breath and lay upon the bed again, willing sleep to blot out reality, even if only for a while. If he began to think about the fact that the Levinsons were most likely boarding – or even had left upon – a ship with his wife that very moment, a wave of nausea sent his stomach reeling and beads of perspiration popped up on his brow. So he closed his eyes against it, attempting to close it out of his mind as well.

* * *

The whole day Robert spent in slumber – or waking and immediately seeking slumber once more. Sunset had come and gone, leaving the room in quiet darkness, for quite a long time before a noise finally roused Robert.

It was a low knock.

"Robert? It's Rosamund. May I come in?"

Robert's eyes strained against the grey of the room, but he neither moved nor spoke.

"I'm worried about you, brother. If you don't say anything, I'm going to come in without permission." She paused. "As it's my house, I think that's fair."

Having no strong feeling – really, no feeling at all – one way or the other about Rosamund entering the room, Robert kept silent.

A small squeak of the door's hinges accompanied the falling of a bar of light across the floor and bed. Robert faced away from the door as he lay on his stomach, so these were his sole indications of her entrance. He heard her set down something – he believed probably a tray – before he felt the bed move and her hand touch his upper back. She'd sat down beside him.

"Robert, you have to eat something. You haven't had anything that I've seen since luncheon yesterday," she said softly.

Lifting his head enough to turn it, he looked up into her face despite how even the low light from the hallway hurt his eyes. "I don't want anything," he croaked.

"Please, Robert. Try to eat something – for me." She patted his shoulder. "I think you owe that to me. As the first girl you ever really loved." Rosamund smiled gently, her voice a balance of teasing and sincerity. When she saw him stare at her almost blankly, she felt her heart clinch, as near to tears as she'd been in months – perhaps longer. "Brother, I shall be severely put out with you if you make me cry."

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Robert nodded. Then he heaved himself up carefully with his good arm, situating himself into a sitting position against the pillows upon the bed. Rosamund, her countenance having brightened considerably, stood up and retrieved the tray from a small table.

Placing the tray over his legs, she poked her head into the hallway and got a hall boy to come and light the lamps and build up a fire. "I can't see how you could sleep in here. Your fire has gone completely out." She glanced around and snatched up a blanket from a chair, pulling it around her shoulders. "Now, the food is very simple, as I didn't think you would be interested in anything too heavy or fancy," she explained as he uncovered the dishes. She sat at the foot of the bed once the hall boy had finished and shut the door behind him.

"It's fine, Rosamund," he said flatly. "And I didn't feel the cold. I didn't feel anything."

Rosamund watched as he slowly made his way through a bowl of soup, fiddling with her evening gloves.

As he finished his soup, he flicked his eyes up and asked, "Won't Marmaduke be waiting?"

"I'm not worried about Marmaduke, Robert. He's probably already snoring with his book open across his lap." She grinned. "He doesn't mind. He was concerned too."

Robert nodded and drank deeply of the wine she'd brought up. "You don't usually do this sort of thing – bring trays and play the nurse."

Rosamund studied his movements, noting how heavy they were, how sluggish. His eyes had fallen to the tray again, and he bit into a bread roll. "No. I don't. Which should tell you how worried I've been. I couldn't trust anyone else to get you to eat something. And Isidore did ask –"

His eyes suddenly focused upon her face. "Please, Rosamund. I can't talk about any of them right now."

"Oh." She averted her eyes, her hand reaching into her pocket. Sighing, she pulled out a small envelope. "This telegram arrived for you a little earlier. I sent one of the footmen to check the telegraph office just after dinner."

He shook his head. "You can read it. I – I can't."

Clearing her throat, Rosamund opened the envelope and perused the few lines of text. "Do you want to know what it says?"

"Not particularly. Not if it doesn't say they're turning around and coming back." He put the rest of the roll down, uninterested in eating any more.

Rosamund lifted her eyes to meet his and gave a tiny shake of her head. "I wish I could say it did."

Robert leaned back into the pillows, his head tilted upward, staring at the ceiling. "Well. That's that."

Standing and taking the tray away from him, Rosamund listened to him let out a long exhale. Sitting next to him again, closer to the head of the bed this time, she touched his elbow in its sling. "What will you do tomorrow?"

"Nothing," he replied.

"Robert, that's not like you. I understand why you wouldn't want to go home, but you could be utilizing your time here – taking care of things for the estate, helping Papa." A crease appeared in her forehead.

He rolled his head back and forth along the pillows, his eyes fixed to a distant point on the ceiling still. "I don't think I can."

Rosamund had been afraid to ask before – and suspected she already knew at least part of the answer – but she asked now. "How do you feel?" Her voice was soft.

His eyes gradually left the ceiling and fell upon her face. No trace of light came from his features, and his eyes were the dullest she'd ever seen. "Empty."

"Oh, Robert," she whispered, squeezing his arm. "It will turn out alright. You can't admit defeat."

"Yes," he said, his tone leaden. "I can."

Sighing, Rosamund rose from her place on the bed, letting go of his arm. "Perhaps you'll see things differently tomorrow."

Robert didn't respond, but turned his eyes to the fire. After pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and murmuring a goodnight, Rosamund had the hall boy collect the tray. With one last look at her brother – slumped against his pillows, his eyes reflecting a light that they could no longer seem to absorb – the sister left him to do what he needed to grieve what he feared he'd lost forever.

* * *

The fire had died down to embers when Robert woke, unable to sleep any longer. Darkness still enveloped the room, save for the dim glow of the one lamp he'd left lit. By it he could see that it was four in the morning.

Turning onto his side, he took a deep breath, endeavoring to hold back tears at the thought that it had been only forty-eight hours since he'd gathered Cora up into his arms and placed her gently in her bed at Grantham House.

The moment felt as far away to him as if it had been a lifetime ago.

Robert closed his eyes, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. The images of the past weeks flitted across the insides of his eyelids, and he could no longer keep himself from sobbing. He fumbled for her rings – an action becoming quickly instinctive to him – and clutched them as he folded himself into a tight ball upon the sheets, as if shielding himself from the hollowness that attempted to lay a permanent claim upon him. Because he wasn't certain whether it would be better to feel everything – to be broken, to be in pain, to ache – or to feel nothing.

Gradually, his body began to relax, the sobs that racked his frame easing and his tears slowing until he lay there, drained and catching his breath from the violence of this lengthy bout of weeping. He blinked his eyes and stared into the nearly dark fireplace. And, finally, instead of succumbing to a ruthless attack of unbidden images, Robert inhaled deeply before going back to the start – to the accident – and replaying everything in his mind. He ruminated over every event, explored every nuance, and left no feeling, no thought – no matter how painful or ridiculous – unexamined.

Light reached its fingers into the room, infiltrating the darkness by degrees, and eventually permeated every corner before Robert sat up. Some light had permeated the shadows in his mind as well.

When he'd kept vigil in Cora's bedroom, uncertain whether she would live or not, his worst fear had been that she would never awaken. But she had. She didn't know him, but she lived. The next days had been a kind of hell for him. But was he any less grateful that she had survived the accident?

No. As long as she lived, there was hope.

And there _was _hope. In the depths of his own despair, he'd overlooked something – something he could only see once he'd combed through everything as meticulously as he'd done over the past hours.

_For now_, she'd said. _Goodbye for now_.

Two words. Those two words, whispered into his mind and heart again in her own soft, sweet voice, made all the difference in the world to him.

Broken and empty he might be, and despair still clutched at his heart, but two words breathed enough hope into him to enable him to get out of bed and ring for his valet.

* * *

"I thought perhaps I was hallucinating when Travers told me you'd be joining me for luncheon," Rosamund remarked as Robert entered the dining room and bent down to kiss her cheek before taking his place across from her.

"I'm no hallucination, Rosamund."

As he spread his serviette across his lap and waited for the footman to serve him, Rosamund studied him closely. Robert was still gray-faced, dark patches beneath his eyes, but at least he was out of bed, washed and dressed, joining her for a meal. She would accept this as progress, even though, as the meal went on, she could tell he was in no fit state to talk. She let him dwell in silence, recognizing that it might be what he needed.

A glance and a nod were all Rosamund received when, after a few hours in the drawing room – he attempting and failing to read, she writing letters – she rose from her desk and excused herself to make an afternoon call. She wasn't certain whether to be pleased or relieved to find him in the same place (probably staring at the same page) an hour later when she came home for tea. At least he hadn't gone back up to his room.

Robert ate very little at tea, but he ate something. Rosamund tried to engage him in conversation, but the most she got from him were a few "mm-hmm"s and a grunt or two of acknowledgement. So she fell silent again, subverting her natural inclinations because she knew pushing him wouldn't help.

Dinner proved to be another quiet affair. Marmaduke and Rosamund discussed the day, but Robert barely looked at them. As the day went on, Robert could imagine feeling how far Cora was from him, the distance between them increasing by the hour as she traveled in Europe. And as the distance increased, so did the weight of his heartache, despite the morning's revelation.

Rosamund brought her brother a Scotch as soon as he'd seated himself. Beckoning to Marmaduke, she carried her own drink into a corner of the room, where the pair of them ensconced themselves.

"Won't he notice us whispering in this furtive manner, Rosamund?" Marmaduke asked in a low voice.

Shaking her head, Rosamund cast her eyes upon her brother, whose own eyes gazed into his untouched drink. "I believe we could invite Sir Alistair into our drawing room this minute, and he won't notice."

"I'm not so sure about that, my dear." He sipped at his Scotch.

She turned to face her husband. "Did he say anything after dinner? Whilst you two had your brandy?"

Marmaduke shrugged. "No, but I could tell he wasn't in a particularly chatty mood. I let him be. And he didn't have any brandy," he added.

"I'm happy he's down here, but he just seems so lost, Marmaduke." She glanced over at Robert again, who hadn't moved.

"He _is_ lost, darling. You can't expect him to find his way in one day." He slid his fingers beneath her chin to turn her head gently back around, his eyes fixing onto hers. "I know I wouldn't be able to, had the same thing happened to me."

"Marmaduke, stop that." Rosamund pried his hand away from her face, but held onto it. "I'm being serious."

He leaned closer to her. "So am I. I'm not sure I could go through what he is with nearly half so much calm."

Rosamund squeezed his hand. "But, that's just my point, Marmaduke." She lowered her voice even more, tilting her head toward her brother. "_That_ isn't calm. Even if Robert did ordinarily respond to things calmly – which, if you recall, he doesn't – there is a difference. The way he was with Cora, his patience with her once he'd collected enough of his wits to realize that he had to slow down and let her lead…. That I might classify as calm. But _this_…." She looked over at Robert, shaking her head. "This isn't calm. This is a man who has been shattered."

"Then we must do what we can to help him put the pieces back together, Rosamund." He had a small sip of his whiskey, wringing her hand gently in his.

"I know." She turned her head to meet his eyes. "But I fear that we won't be able to help him as much as he needs – or how he needs. I'm afraid that the only one who can truly help him is Cora herself."

Marmaduke gave a sigh. "Dear, you are his sister, and you've known him for many years. Perhaps you're right – that the only person who can truly bring Robert back to himself is Cora. But I have no doubt in my mind that you can help him."

Rosamund smiled softly. "You have such a lot of faith in me, Marmaduke."

"Yes, well, just don't get carried away 'helping' him, Rosamund. I know how you are, but I don't think you'll get far with your usual manner. He doesn't need to be beat about the head."

"Well, that's deflated me a bit." She frowned.

Kissing her forehead, Marmaduke smiled at her. "I think you know what I meant, darling. Your tendency to go full steam ahead when others might hesitate or treat a person with kid gloves is one of the things I love about you. But you and I know that it won't work this time."

"No, you're right. Although I hadn't planned on bludgeoning the poor man, Marmaduke." She rolled her eyes. At her husband's light chuckle, she let go his hand and swatted at his arm.

"Now I'm not sure I deserved that. I simply pointed out the obvious, Rosamund." He pouted.

"None of that, you devil," she teased, her eyes sparkling at him. She glanced around to be sure no one was looking before giving him a quick kiss. "That's in apology. And later I'll show my gratitude for your recognizing how marvelous your wife is."

He bent close to her ear and whispered, "Just as long as she doesn't catch us."

Rosamund let out a low, throaty chuckle. "You devil," she murmured. Then she looked at her brother again. He'd had a little of the Scotch but otherwise had barely moved. She sighed. "I'm not sure I know what to do, Marmaduke."

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You'll think of something. In the meantime, he's downstairs, and that's a step in the right direction. And one he took for himself. There's some spark in him, darling."

She nodded. "You're right. But I'm still very concerned."

"It's only natural, Rosamund. He's your brother."

"Yes." Her eyes remained on Robert. "And as much as the pair of us quarrel and I tease him, I do love him."

"I know you do." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Come now, let's at least go sit with him. Even if he won't talk, I think he will appreciate our being there with him."

"True." Inhaling deeply, she led Marmaduke by the hand to join her brother. If they could help him in no other way that evening, they could make certain he knew he was among family.

* * *

Robert came down for breakfast the next morning. But when Marmaduke held out a telegram, Robert shook his head, requesting his brother-in-law read it.

Most of the day mirrored the day before. Robert was present, but wrapped up in his own contemplations. Rosamund scoured her brain for any idea to help him out of his melancholy, chagrined that none would come to her.

Marmaduke walked in after dinner, kissing his wife on the cheek as he headed for the drinks cabinet. Rosamund waited a moment, her eyes flicking to the door, before asking, "Where's Robert? He didn't go back upstairs already, did he?"

Shaking his head, Marmaduke placed the decanter back down and fitted the stopper into it. "He said he wanted some air, went into the garden."

"You won't mind if I go out there with him for a while, do you?"

Wandering over with his drink, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled at her. "As long as you wear a coat, darling."

She grinned. "As you like, my dear."

Rosamund found her brother laid out upon his back on a stretch of grass near a low bench, his injured arm resting across his chest in its sling. The moon was at the full, so neither had needed a lantern to find their way.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Be my guest." Robert continued to gaze up into the sky.

Sitting herself down upon the bench, she drew her coat more snuggly around her body. "I suppose you aren't cold, brother."

"No," he said simply, shaking his head and moving his eyes to something he held in his left hand.

Rosamund peered at it. "Robert, is that a pipe?"

"Yes. But I can't get it to stay lit." He finally sat up, still examining the pipe.

"You don't smoke a pipe. Where did you even get it?" A crease appeared between her brows.

Robert glanced at her with a shrug. "Marmaduke."

Her expression became even more bewildered. "But – Marmaduke doesn't smoke a pipe either. Not unless he has some sort of clandestine existence of which I am not cognizant." She mumbled the last part, then added, "The devil."

A rich chuckle erupted from Robert, taking Rosamund by surprise. "I think he keeps a few around for guests – especially Papa. I believe Marmaduke said this was the one Papa prefers when he forgets to pocket his own."

Rosamund watched in mild astonishment as her brother put the pipe between his lips and struck a match against the stone bench – careful to avoid her coat – touching it to the tobacco while endeavoring to get it started. Nothing happened. So he tried several more times before Rosamund grew impatient.

"For heaven's sake, Robert, hand the thing here." She snatched it from him as soon as he'd pulled the stem from his mouth and grabbed the matches as well.

Robert marveled as she went through the same motions he had, yet, unaccountably to him, she somehow coaxed a long curl of smoke from the bowl of the pipe. Coughing delicately, she exhaled, another streamer let loose upon the crisp night air.

"Bravo, Rosamund. Are you sure you haven't smoked Papa's pipes before?" His voice, although nowhere near jovial, had a lilt of humor to it that gave Rosamund hope.

She laughed lightly. "No, just powers of observation and instinct." She passed the pipe to him.

He took it, turning to sit with his back against the bench, near where she perched.

"Why a pipe all of a sudden, Robert?" she inquired in a more serious tone as he finally figured out how to keep the pipe lit.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, around the stem of the pipe as their father often carried on his after dinner conversations. "I needed something different, something to shake me out of this – this… whatever it is."

For a few moments, the siblings kept a companionable silence, the scent of pipe tobacco filling the cold air between them. Robert stared up at the moon again, and Rosamund surreptitiously watched him.

Then she shifted to face him more fully. Holding her hand out, she said, "Do you mind sharing? You may not be cold, but I am."

Robert handed her the pipe, too astounded to protest. He thought about telling her that if she was cold she could go inside, but he knew she had come out to keep him company and was stubborn enough to refuse to leave. It touched him.

They passed the pipe back and forth several times, Robert staying on the grass, his crossed legs stretched out in front of him, and Rosamund leaning down with an elbow upon her knees. Then she ventured to address him in a soft voice, "You miss her, don't you?"

His deep sigh enveloped her in his sorrow. "_Miss_ is not nearly a strong enough word, Rosamund." He grasped the proffered pipe and puffed upon it a few times before continuing. "I came out here because even if we aren't in the same country, we see the same moon. Perhaps she's already asleep, or even out dancing – " Rosamund almost missed his miniscule wince at the thought. "I don't know if she thinks of me or talks of me with her parents, but it's possible – if only slightly – that she, at some point, is looking up at that full moon." He swallowed hard and passed the pipe back to his sister. "A thin sliver of connection."

Rosamund watched him smile sadly. She let out a long breath of smoke before she inquired, "Robert, don't you think you might –"

But he was already shaking his head. "No." Robert held her gaze. "No," he said gently. "I know what you're going to ask, but I can't. She wanted to go. No one made her do it." He looked down at his hand. "It was her choice. And I will honor it. No matter how hurt I am because of it."

After giving the pipe back to her brother, Rosamund extracted an envelope from her coat pocket. "This arrived a little earlier, whilst you and Marmaduke were still in the dining room. I knew you wouldn't want to read it, so I went ahead and did it."

He nodded, puffing on the pipe and staring straight ahead into the darkness of the hedges.

"Robert, this one is a little different. Would you like to read it?" Rosamund touched his shoulder.

Now he shook his head, his expression becoming even blanker.

"Well, I'm going to read it to you, because I think you need to hear it." She unfolded the paper, tilting it in various ways to better catch the light cast by the moon. "In Paris one more day. Then on to Nice. Cora remains quiet – almost sad. We try to cheer her. No use. Best regards."

Robert said nothing, simply went on smoking. Rosamund felt like slapping him.

"Doesn't this tell you something, brother? Perhaps you should go join them." She refolded the telegram and slipped it into her pocket. "And don't keep that pipe all to yourself."

Handing it to her, he slowly rose from his place on the grass, looking down at her. He didn't seem angry or upset, just resolved. "Rosamund, she wants to be left alone. I don't know why she is quiet or sad; I have no reason to think she'd confide in me anyway. All I know is I cannot be rebuffed by her again."

Rosamund sighed in exasperation, standing and pushing the pipe back into his hand. "I suppose Marmaduke was wrong. I don't know how to help you."

Robert's brows drew together. "What do you mean, Rosamund? You're doing plenty to help me."

"Never mind, brother. I'm too cold to stand out here anymore. I need a large drink by a warm fire." Leaning over, she kissed his cheek and spun around, sweeping back into the house.

He had meant to go back inside as well, since the chill had begun to affect him too. But instead he sat on the bench. He gazed up at the moon again and wished so much that, whatever else was happening, that Cora wouldn't be sad – until the pipe finally went out.

* * *

Robert stood, thinking he heard something, peering into the shadows that indicated an opening in the hedges, where a trellis hung with greenery blocked out the light of the moon.

Then, there she was, just outside the trellis, the moonlight making her fair skin luminescent and painting a faint halo around her dark hair. She wore a cream colored evening dress with the emerald green scarf wrapped about her waist. Her eyes sparkled bright blue, and her mouth curved in a soft, loving smile.

As she took a few steps forward, Robert blinked his eyes in disbelief, inhaling deeply of the cold air to clear his head. She lifted her arm and stretched out her hand to him, beckoning. He raised his own hand, about to draw nearer to her, to take her hand –

Robert sat up with a gasp, drenched in sweat. He rubbed his eyes with his right hand, his mind clinging to the image of Cora in the garden, bathed in moonlight. For several moments, he struggled against overwhelming emotion, moving his hand from his eyes to his stubbly cheek. Eventually, the lump in his throat eased and his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness.

Sliding backwards on the bed, Robert propped himself up, leaned back, closed his fingers around Cora's rings, and thought. He couldn't remember ever having such a vivid dream before in his life. It took his breath away even now how real it'd seemed. He never really took much stock in dreams – partly because the few he even remembered somewhat were so hazy – but something about this one tugged at him. Some feeling of tranquility that planted a seed of warmth in his heart when he saw her sweet, soft smile in his mind's eye.

She'd been beckoning. And Rosamund's voice swam about in his head: _Cora remains quiet – almost sad._

In the end, a dream really meant nothing. But, right now, to Robert, somehow it made him perceive that if he may not gain anything from going after her – at least he really had nothing to lose either.

Robert closed his eyes, Cora appearing in the darkened space. He knew he had to do whatever he could to try and take her hand. To take her hand and close his arms around her and never let her go.


	10. My only, dearest love

The journey to Nice might not have been half so bad if Robert could have kept himself still. The disquiet and uncertainty of his mind manifested itself in fidgeting, pacing, and twitching that he couldn't seem to control. Every anxious motion carried with it a question, a wondering: Would she be happy to see him? Would she shout at him? Would she insist he leave? Did she remember him? Might she love him? Would she stare at him blankly, no emotion at all? Could she be persuaded to let him try again?

Several days before, Rosamund had practically squealed in delight – had she'd been inclined to do such things – when Robert came down and told her Masterman was packing his cases for Nice. She did everything she knew how to expedite his departure. As it was, it still took nearly a day for them to arrange everything (with Rosamund certain they'd forgotten some detail), and Robert already couldn't stay motionless. Rosamund smiled to herself. She realized he had doubts, that he believed it might all be for naught, but she was happy he'd taken matters into his own hands.

So, when she accompanied him to the port the next morning, Rosamund kissed his cheek and put a hand upon his arm. "All will be well, brother. You'll see. And until it is, don't worry about any of us here. You just do what you need to do."

"Thank you, Rosamund." He gave her a small smile and boarded the ship.

Now that he'd arrived in Nice, Robert couldn't seem to catch his breath. He would see her soon.

Robert wasn't sure what to do first once he entered the lobby of the resort. He wanted to see her first thing, but he didn't know if that was wise. So, not having made a reservation (the thing they'd forgotten), he stepped up to the desk to book a suite for himself.

Someone called out from behind him. "Robert?"

He turned, and Cora's face transformed into a radiant glow. She immediately broke into a run, ignoring convention, her skirts, her heeled shoes, and the other guests. Her arms outstretched, she collided with him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. Robert, winded, grunted and slipped his right arm around her as well, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Cora," he whispered.

They stayed like that for a moment, simply holding one another, Robert wondering if he might be dreaming again.

Suddenly she pulled back and looked with concern at his arm in its sling which had been between them. "Oh, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Blinking back tears, Robert shook his head a bit. "No. It's fine." He wanted to kiss her, to take her upstairs and make love to her. But he still didn't know where he stood with her, and it made him hesitant.

"What brought you here? I didn't expect to see you here!" Cora's words tumbled over one another, and she smiled brightly, her face flushed.

He almost blurted out, "I had a dream about you." Instead, he lowered his voice, and said, "We got a telegram from your father, saying you were quiet and seemed sad. I couldn't stay away once I knew that." He couldn't stop himself from touching her cheek.

Cora's eyes glistened. "Might we take a walk together, Robert? I'd like to talk to you."

"But I haven't gotten a room…." He nodded toward the desk.

"Can't that wait?" The pleading in her countenance was enough for him to agree to anything.

He gave her a soft smile. "Of course." Robert offered her his arm, and she clung to it. "I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?" he asked as they made their way out of the doors and to the shore.

"No," she answered. "I was on my way out to do just this – take a stroll on the beach – while Mother and Poppa have a rest."

Robert led her along the shoreline, careful to help her keep her balance in her inappropriate footwear. He stayed silent, simply savoring being able to walk with her.

After a little while, Cora addressed him. "I feel I owe you an apology, Robert."

Squeezing her arm against him, Robert shook his head a bit. "I don't know what for. You simply did what you thought was best."

She halted abruptly and slid her arm from his, stepping in front of him to look him in the eye. "No. I didn't know what was best. I still don't know what is best. All I know is that by leaving, I realize I hurt you very deeply, when you've been nothing but patient and good to me. I hurt you, even though I thought I might spare you pain. Instead of staying and facing things, I ran away." Cora shook her head. "It was wrong. I – I am ashamed to say why I decided to leave."

Robert gazed at her intently, taking in her concern and her sadness. "Why did you?"

A slow blush crept from her cheeks and into her hair and throat, and she lowered her lashes, studying her hands. "I was jealous."

His brows rose. "Jealous? Of whom?"

"See, this is the part of which I'm ashamed." She lifted her eyes. "I'm jealous of _her_. The wife you remember but I cannot. I didn't think I could compete with all those happy memories you shared."

"But, Cora, you _are_ her. Whether you remember or not." Robert endeavored to convey the truth of this with his expression, his tone.

She took a deep breath, looking down again. "But I don't know how I can be her if I don't remember."

"Cora, what are you saying?" He sensed from her tone that she was getting at something else entirely now.

"I'm saying…." Cora raised her eyes to his, holding his gaze for a moment before going on. "I'm saying that I think I'm in love with you. But I don't know how to love you in the ways you remember. And I'm afraid I won't be enough."

Robert's heart beat twice as hard. "You – you love me?" He couldn't quite focus upon the rest.

She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and her blush intensifying. "Yes." She brushed her fingers over his face gently, making him close his eyes and sigh happily. "Robert, I love you."

Keeping his eyes closed, Robert reveled in the moment. When he'd packed for Nice, he hadn't imagined that his dearest wish would be realized so soon upon arriving. Finally, he opened his eyes, fixing them upon her bright blue ones. "I love you too. _You_, Cora. Whether you remember me and us or not. Nothing changes that."

"I'm happy to hear you say that." She smiled, and Robert felt his whole world shine out of her face when she did.

"May I – may I hold you again?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes," she replied, stepping into the circle of his arm, her hands resting upon his chest through the sling.

"Darling," he murmured into her hair. He could feel her smile grow wider against his shoulder.

They stayed thus for a while, until Robert noticed the bite of the wind.

"Cora, perhaps we should make our way back. It's cold, and I can't have you getting ill."

"I'm not cold," she said, taking a small step backwards and tilting her head up to look at him. "Not with your arm around me."

Robert smiled. Then he remembered something. "Cora, I'd like to ask you something."

"Yes?" Her expression turned into one of curiosity as he withdrew his arm from her back and fumbled with his collar.

Successfully extracting the rings from beneath his shirt, he lifted the chain over his head and took a step back from her in order to use both hands to slide her engagement ring off of it. He closed his left hand around the wedding ring and chain while holding out the large diamond ring that had been his great-grandmother's. "Cora, I want to do this in a way that you're comfortable. I want you to have a proposal and a wedding and a honeymoon – and anything else you want. I'll do my best to help you understand things and to put you at ease. That's my promise to you. And to love you – as you – always. So, my sweetheart, will you marry me?"

Tears formed upon her lashes as she brought her fingers to her lips and moved her eyes from the ring to his face. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, Robert. I'll marry you." She laughed and quickly twitched off the glove of her left hand, holding it out to him so he could place the ring on her finger. Then, evidently not caring who saw – not that it mattered quite so much where they were in Nice – she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Remembering that they still had quite a few kissing lessons to go, Robert controlled his enthusiasm as best he could, sighing happily against her lips as she kissed him sweetly, lovingly. He thought his heart might burst.

Finally, she ended the kiss and leaned back, her lashes lowered and her face flushed. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, don't be sorry. You don't know how I've longed for these moments, Cora. No matter where they take place." He grinned at her and stroked light fingers along the nape of her neck. Then he furrowed his brow. "Why were you sad – quiet – Cora? Your father wouldn't have mentioned it if he weren't concerned about you."

She raised her lashes. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. The pain I knew I'd caused. And the pain I was feeling in separating myself from you. Of knowing it was my fault."

"Stop saying it like that, Cora." His hand caressed the back of her head tenderly. "I know that you did what you thought you had to – for both of us. What I don't understand is why, if you felt that way, you didn't just come back."

Cora gave him a wry smile. "Pride? Stubbornness? I don't know, Robert. I wasn't sure you'd take me back after what I'd done," she whispered the last part and looked down at where she'd slid her hands down from his neck and begun to fiddle with one of his waistcoat buttons.

Robert opened his left hand so she could see the chain and wedding ring again. "Cora, I've had these around my neck since you took them off. I would always – will always – take you back."

She took a deep breath and picked up the ring and chain. Then she glanced up at him with tears in her eyes. "You should keep this safe until our wedding." Smiling softly, Cora carefully put the chain over his head. "Shall we go tell Mother and Poppa?"

Pressing a brief kiss to her cheek, he nodded. "Yes. Let's do that." He offered her his arm again, but smiled when she replaced her glove and clasped his hand in hers.

They walked in happy silence back into the resort lobby.

"I should get a suite, Cora. So Masterman can unpack. He's been waiting all this time…."

"Robert?" Cora squeezed his hand as she inquired in a low voice, "Might you stay with us?"

Raising his brows, Robert countered with another question. "Do you have room?"

She nodded slowly, roses blooming in her cheeks once more. "Yes. We have room for you."

Tilting his head at this slightly enigmatic response, Robert merely nodded back and led her to the desk to let them know, so they could tell his valet. "As you wish, Cora."

Robert couldn't believe how wonderful it felt to have her hand in his again, her fingers gently wringing his as they climbed the stairs together. It truly was like his dream had come true – no matter how ridiculous that was.

Cora pushed open the door to their suite sitting room, indicating that Robert should wait in the hall for a moment. He heard Isidore's deep voice greet his daughter. "Princess, I thought you might be gone a bit longer. Your mother won't be out here until it's time for tea."

"That's alright, Poppa. I have a surprise for you, and it's alright if she is still resting." Robert could hear the smile in her voice.

"Well, what's this surprise then?"

"Come in," she called to Robert.

He walked in, and Isidore grinned. "Robert! How wonderful! I mean –" He glanced at his daughter, but apprehended that she was smiling too. "Yes, how good to see you!" He put his hand out to wring his son-in-law's. "So you decided to join us after all?"

"Yes, sir," replied Robert, flicking his eyes to Cora, the heat rising in his face to see how pleased she was. "Your telegram of a few days ago convinced me." He cast his eyes to Cora again, catching her gaze.

"Good, good," Isidore said, his head bobbing up and down. "Scotch, Robert? It'll be a little while before Martha is ready to join us."

"Just a small one, Isidore." He kept his eyes upon his wife, longing to be alone with her again as she couldn't seem to stop blushing.

"Poppa," she ventured. "I told Robert he could stay with us. Is that alright?"

Isidore paused in pouring drinks to fix her with a concerned look. "Are you sure, princess?"

Robert wondered at his sudden apprehension, his glance going between the two of them. Cora fixed her eyes on his face. "I'm sure, Poppa."

Shrugging, Isidore brought Robert's drink to him. "Well, you _are_ married…." he muttered.

"Wait," Robert choked out. "Cora, are you telling me there isn't a third room?" He gaped at her.

"No, there isn't," she said plainly. "You'll stay with me."

He swallowed hard. "But – but what about…?"

"Robert," she said, moving to sit beside him on the settee. "I trust you. Besides, we're to be married. Well – _are _married."

"To be married?" Isidore questioned.

Cora turned a beaming face to her father. "Yes. We're getting married. Robert asked me just a little while ago." She looked back at Robert. "That's how much he loves me. He wants to make me happy – to give me memories."

Isidore chuckled. "Well, I can't fault him any for that." He took a sip of his drink.

But Robert lowered his voice. "Cora, I can very easily get my own suite. You don't have to-"

She put her fingers to his lips. "It will be fine, Robert." Her cheeks grew rosy again. "Besides, I missed you."

At her words, the way she looked at him, her fingers pressed to his lips, all his reservations melted away. "Alright. But if for even one moment it becomes strange for you, I'll happily get my own room."

"I know," she said, smiling.

Isidore coughed loudly, causing Cora to giggle. "We haven't forgotten you're here, Poppa," she said, her eyes affixed to Robert's still.

"Good," her father said, chuckling. "Robert, you'll be joining us for tea, dinner?"

"As long as you and Martha don't mind, Isidore," Robert said, pulling his eyes away from Cora's to settle upon his father-in-law.

"Oh no, of course not. I'm sure Martha will be delighted at this new development." His mustache twitched. "I, for one – or, seeing Cora's response to your arrival, for two – am happy you're here."

* * *

All through tea, dinner, Robert watched his wife with a careful eye. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he kept thinking it might be too good to be true – that she might decide that she didn't love him. He didn't want to think that way about Cora, but the past few weeks had been so hard for them both….

However, every glance at her seemed to steady him. She would be looking at her ring, smiling happily, or he would catch her eye and she would grin and blush. She touched his hand and appeared at ease. And this put him at ease as well.

He left off the sling for dinner, hopeful that he could convince Cora – and perhaps even his in-laws – to go dancing afterward in the ballroom across the hall. Besides, his shoulder felt much better, the rest of the preceding week in the sling having gone a long way toward its healing. As dinner wound down, and they were enjoying dessert and coffee, Robert cleared his throat.

"I thought we might go dancing, Cora." He nodded toward the ballroom.

Cora's eyes lit up, becoming a brilliant shade of blue. "Yes, please."

"You're welcome to join us, Martha and Isidore," Robert said, turning to them.

Isidore looked at his wife with a smile. "What do you think, darling? For a little while?"

"Why not?" she replied. "It's a celebration of sorts, isn't it?"

"Yes," Robert answered, gazing at Cora. "Yes, it's most certainly a celebration."

The four of them twirled about the floor for several hours before they grew tired. Happily fatigued, they ascended the stairs and went into their rooms, Isidore having stopped at the desk to request their attendants.

"Knock on the dressing room door once you're ready, Cora," Robert said softly after her parents had disappeared into their room. His apprehension about their sleeping arrangement had returned, and he didn't want to cause her alarm.

But she simply nodded and kissed his cheek before retiring to her room.

Masterman had not been gone long before Robert heard her knock upon the dividing door. "You can come in now," she said.

He entered in his dressing gown, aware that a faint blush tinged his cheeks. "I'm not sure how this should work, Cora," he admitted.

Robert didn't expect Cora to laugh. "I do apologize, but, you see, I'm quite nervous. I had thought that perhaps we could start with you on your side and me on mine."

Taking a deep breath, he smiled at her. "Yes, that sounds sensible." He gazed at her as she stood next to the bed, as beautiful and radiant as ever, and he felt… butterflies. "Would you prefer I kept my dressing gown on?"

"I don't think that's necessary, Robert." She pulled at the tie of her own dressing gown.

He carefully looked away and tossed his own aside upon a chair, slipping beneath the bedclothes as neatly and quickly as possible. Cora followed suit and turned down her lamp all the way. Robert turned his lamp down enough for there to be a soft glow. Between that and the light of the crackling fire, he could see her beloved face just enough to tell that she was blushing slightly. Turning onto her side, she propped her head up on her elbow and looked at him with a smile.

"Except for that night you tucked me into bed, I've never spent the night with anyone else," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, settling on to his side in a similar manner, glad that his weight could be upon his right shoulder. "I do regret that it startled you so."

Cora gave a bit of a shrug. "You couldn't have realized, Robert. And you didn't do anything so horrible." She lowered her lashes. "I understand that you just wanted to hold me."

"I want to hold you every day of my life, sweetheart," he whispered, gratified when she lifted her eyes to his, the rose of her blush spreading.

She surprised him again by scooting closer and caressing his cheek, then pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She gazed at him, her visage serious. "Robert, we should sleep. If you end up holding me by the morning, I promise to try not to jump up and shout at you." A hint of amusement crept into her face.

"Well, I suppose that's some relief." He chuckled and bent forward to kiss her again. "Goodnight, my darling."

"Goodnight, dear Robert." Cora drew back and rested her head down on her pillow, still smiling softly at him.

Robert flipped onto his back, his heart going a tad too fast, her nearness so tempting. But he was resolved to do as she bid, to continue to follow her lead, as the doctor had instructed – and as he knew now was only right.

Closing his eyes, he endeavored to forget where he was and sleep. Just as he'd calmed himself enough to where he thought he might be able to sleep, he heard a series of strange noises. Straining his ears, he began to make them out as low moans and high-pitched squeaks. "Oh God," he breathed involuntarily. "Please don't let that be what I think it is." He muttered under his breath, hoping he wasn't disturbing Cora if she was already asleep.

And then – confirming his surmise – he heard a loud laugh and an equally loud, "Isidore! You naughty man!" Then came a, "Martha, stop squirming so much," accompanied by a deep chuckle.

"No, no, no, no, no," Robert mumbled, shaking his head and pulling his pillow up around his ears, endeavoring to block out the noise. But it failed to keep him from hearing the raucous sounds coming from next door.

Then, unbelievably, he thought he heard Cora giggle loudly.

Shifting his eyes to look at her, he apprehended that she was indeed giggling, her face redder than ever. Letting go of the pillow, he turned upon his side again, gaping at her. "Cora?"

"I should have warned you, Robert. I hadn't thought they would be awake enough tonight." Her eyes glittered with ill-concealed glee.

"Wait – you know –? I thought you said you didn't understand when they spoke of such things?" He stared at her in open-mouthed incredulity as the Levinsons' activities continued to press upon his eardrums.

Cora shook her head a bit, before propping it up with her elbow once more. "I didn't. But since we spoke about it – well, I found some books in my possession…." She trailed off, the crimson of her face and neck becoming intense and apparently no longer able to look him in the eye.

Robert gasped. He knew of the books she mentioned, but had never seen them. "Dear lord," he murmured, his breathing a trifle heavier.

Her giggle did little to calm him. "I should have mentioned that the walls were quite thin."

"Cora, I think I should sleep in the dressing room." He backed out of the bed and stood next to it, fumbling to assume his dressing gown, his eyes wide.

"There's no bed in there," she said, a crease on her forehead.

"Then the sitting area. I'll bundle up on the settee…." Robert's breathing became labored and beads of sweat rose upon his brow. He started toward the door.

"Robert, don't be ridiculous!" She'd jumped up and rushed over, stepping in front of him.

Closing his eyes and swallowing hard, Robert shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't stay. It's too much. Not even that it's your parents, but what they're doing –" He cut himself off, still shaking his head.

Then he felt her hands upon his face. "Don't go," she whispered, barely audible above the boisterous noises from the other room.

His lashes fluttered open, and he looked down into the beseeching eyes in front of him. And he thought, perhaps, he saw something more. "Please, I can't stay. I might do something I regret, Cora."

She stroked her palm over the rough of his cheek. "Robert, I love you. I love you, and we're going to be married – _are_ married – and I do believe that you would never do anything intentionally to hurt me." Cora stepped another pace closer to him, her body enticingly near his. "Don't leave. Please."

Inhaling deeply, letting the breath out slowly, his eyes tightly shut, he nodded. "I would never hurt you."

"I know," she whispered.

And all of a sudden, her arms were wrapped around his waist and her lips pressed against his. Robert tried to end the kiss, but she pulled him closer. In the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that she barely knew what she was doing, but his senses reeled at her proximity, her sweet kiss, her scent, her hands kneading into his back. So he did his best, as he'd done earlier in the day, to hold himself back, to do only so much as she might be ready for. He returned her kiss, but let her part his lips with hers, and reached up to twist his fingers into her hair, just above the start of her night braid. He took his time, imbibing the glorious wine of her mouth, her touch, the sounds on the other side of the wall forgotten in the buzzing of his mind and rush of blood in his ears.

When she withdrew to catch her breath, Robert bent his head down to rest his forehead against hers. "Sweetheart," he murmured, "you still have so much to learn."

She looked up into his eyes, no trace of fear or embarrassment in her countenance. "Then teach me, Robert. I want to know how to love you."

Robert blinked back tears at the sincerity of her tone. "Cora, my darling, you don't have to prove it to me this way. You don't have to prove it to me at all. Our wedding night –"

"Has already happened," she interrupted. "What is there to lose?"

He smiled, remembering that she'd been much the same way when they'd been together the first time – two nights before their wedding. He brought a hand around to caress her cheek. "Cora, I don't want you to feel rushed in any way. We'll get there eventually. There's no reason to go barreling ahead before you're ready."

"Robert," she said gently, "I _am_ ready. I haven't been able to think of anything but you for days. You're in my dreams…." She cast her eyes down. "I know I don't remember, but you're my husband. And I want to make you happy."

Grazing his finger along her cheekbone, in an action he knew she'd always loved, he said, "You do make me happy. Just seeing your eyes light up – your smile – it makes me happy beyond anything I could measure. If you want to be with me because you think it's what you're supposed to do, to be 'my wife'…." He shook his head slightly against hers. "I don't need that. I can wait. Your comfort is far more important and precious to me."

"Which is why I want to be with you that much more. To really be with you, Robert." She tilted her head and her lips brushed his earlobe. "Besides," she whispered, "I know we didn't wait before. Mother told me."

Robert stepped back, her arms now loosely wrapped around his waist. He needed to look at her seriously. "Cora, you're right. We didn't. I'm not sure whether that was a mistake or not. For us – at that time – it seemed what we both wanted." He tucked a loosened strand of hair behind her ear and lowered his voice. "But I don't want you to feel you have to recreate what went on before. If you want it, my dear heart, everything is new. There is no need, like I said, for you to prove anything to me. To share your bed – to perhaps sleep with you in my arms – it's enough for me."

He was chagrined to see tears in her eyes. "But, darling –" Robert closed his eyes briefly to finally hear a real endearment pass her lips. "Don't you see? How can I be any clearer? I want to be with you." Cora reached a hand around to the back of his head and pulled him closer, her breath warm upon his ear. "Please, I need to be close to you. Make love to me, Robert. And teach me how to make love to you. We're supposed to be together, I can feel it."

Gasping at the intensity of her tone, her words, Robert drew back once more to stare into her face, to take in just how serious she was. He finally understood that it wasn't jealousy of his memory of her – or a need to prove anything to him about the reality of her love – but that she simply wanted to love him, to feel what it might be like to share that level of intimacy with the person she might actually adore.

Nodding, Robert took her by the hand and led her close to the bed, removing his dressing gown slowly. Then he smiled, remembering their first time and what had made him so nervous then. "At least it won't hurt this time," he whispered.

"Well, that's a relief," she murmured with a low laugh. She trembled a bit, which didn't escape Robert.

"Darling, are you _sure_?" he asked, running his hands lightly up and down her arms.

"Yes," she said, no trace of uncertainty or hesitation in her voice or in her eyes. "I'm just – I'm nervous."

"I understand, Cora." He took her chin tenderly between his fingers. "If this is truly what you want, I'll be as slow and gentle as you need me to be. And if at any time you have doubts, just tell me, and I'll go sleep on the settee." He smiled at her softly, his eyes conveying the truth of his words.

"Please, Robert, just kiss me. Kiss me as intensely as you know how. I need to feel your arms around me." She held his eyes with hers, searchingly.

Nodding, Robert slid his arms about her waist and captured her lips between his. After he heard her emit several soft sighs, he prodded her mouth open wider to slip his tongue to meet hers. She gasped, and he stilled, but when she tightened her arms around his neck, he continued to tease her tongue with his, encouraging her to do the same. Soon she settled into this little game, a low chuckle arising from deep in her throat. He couldn't help smiling against her lips, taking his time to show her all the pleasures that were to be found in kissing someone with feeling and passion.

"Cora," he breathed when they stopped for air, "are you sure you're not tired?" He knew it wouldn't be long before it would be difficult for him to leave her.

"No," she grinned up at him, grasping him even tighter. "If anything, I'm rather invigorated."

"I'm so happy to hear that, darling," he said, returning her grin.

Cora lifted a hand to trace his lips. "You have the most beautiful smile I've ever beheld."

"You're going to see it a great deal more, my love, since you agreed to marry me again."

Her mouth replaced her hand, and he found it difficult not to press her back against the bed and follow the example of his in-laws (who had gone silent finally – gratefully) then and there. He couldn't be so abrupt. Despite what her mother might have told her, what she'd learned from her letters and her books, essentially she stood before him completely inexperienced. It tempered his own passions somewhat, as he longed to show her his love through patience and care and tenderness. And so, he brushed a hesitant hand over her breast through her night dress.

He'd opened his eyes to view her response, wanting to be ruled by her reactions rather than his own. Her own eyes flew open. "Oh my," she breathed. "You might do that again, Robert," she said. "I quite enjoyed it."

He found her candor endearing – and alluring. It was as he remembered her, after all the awkwardness of their first months, after he'd told her he loved her, she'd never been shy again about telling him what she liked or didn't care for. So he cupped her breast more intentionally, pleased by her hum of delight and how her eyes closed once again. He felt a certain stirring below his waist at her reaction, but did his best to ignore it.

Soon she'd clutched his night shirt collar in her hands and pulled him back with her to the bed. Robert loosened her hair from its braid and twisted his fingers into her dark, fragrant tresses. "Cora," breathed, "my sweet darling."

Without warning, she toppled them over onto the bed. Robert stared at her in wonder and amazement.

"You would think you'd done this before," he teased, stroking her hair back from her face.

"I have, although I don't remember it." Her voice was light, although he could hear a faint nervousness behind her tone. "Those books hold a lot of wisdom, I think."

He chuckled. "One day, you'll have to share them with me in their entirety."

"Oh no." She shook her head, grazing her fingers over his cheek and jaw. "I think it may be too much for you, Robert."

Grinning, he kissed her lightly, "You always say that."

"Well, at least I'm consistent," she replied. "Now. I think we could continue our lesson, don't you?"

Robert let out a low groan as her hands traveled beneath his night shirt to his waist, touching him with timid fingers. "Good God, woman."

She chuckled richly. "What's next, darling?"

"Oh, Cora…." He pulled up her night dress, needing so much to feel her smooth skin against his hands as he hadn't done in so very long. Wrapping his fingers around her waist, he bent his head down to engage her in a deep kiss.

Very soon – perhaps too soon, as he wasn't sure he knew how to tell any more, as much as she encouraged him – he'd ran his hands up her sides and began teasing her breasts. "Robert," she breathed. "Yes…."

"Cora," he whispered into her ear, "is it alright if we rid you of this night dress?"

She appeared to find this amusing. "Isn't that a normal thing to happen during, well, this?"

"It wasn't always," he breathed. "May I?"

Her nod reassured him. In fact, she reached down herself and drew the night dress over her head, flinging it over the end of the bed. Looking up at him, clad only in her drawers, her eyes communicating to him such love and trust, he caught his breath.

She had never been more beautiful to him than she was in that moment. "Cora." Her name caught in his throat. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against himself, whispering into her ear, "I love you. So very much."

Cora's fingers threaded through his hair. "I love you too, Robert," she replied. Then she began to fidget. "Please, please, I don't know why or how, but I know I need something only you can give me – and soon." She began dropping kisses just beneath his ear.

At this, Robert felt his arousal stiffen even more. However, he said, "I'd wanted to teach you a little more, a little better, darling."

"This won't be our only time, my love," she whispered, her kisses trailing down along his neck.

"No, but, as it's your first – that you remember…." He believed her attentions, along with the sweetness of her unexpected endearment, might send him reeling beyond where he could function coherently, they were so tender and innocent – at the same time that she was deliberately tantalizing and alluring.

Robert felt her fingers hook under his night shirt, twitching it higher. "I want to see you, Robert. I want to know what you look like."

He put a hand over one of hers and his other on her cheek. "I don't want to scare you."

Cora looked at him seriously. "You won't. There are drawings in the books…." She had the grace to blush and lower her lashes.

Robert sighed softly and let go of her hand. Standing, he pulled his night shirt over his head, and then unbuttoned his drawers. He watched her as her eyes widened when he dropped his undergarment to the floor and stepped out of it. "I can still leave," he said, knowing he'd have to withdraw to the washroom at this point. It was little enough sacrifice for her comfort.

"No," she said emphatically, flicking her eyes up to his again. She shook her head. "No." She stood and took a few steps until she was just in front of him. Reaching around behind her, she undid the button of her own drawers and let them fall down around her ankles. "Please, Robert," she whispered. "Let me know what it feels like to be with you. Fully. As a wife is with her husband she loves dearly."

"Cora, my only, dearest love," he breathed, slipping his arms around her and picking her up to place her upon the bed. Then he chuckled, his fingers thrust into her hair as he knelt above her. "Your parents might be in for a shock."

"Let them be, Robert. There's no shame in our being together." She reached up and pulled his head down to kiss him once more, sighing happily as one of his hands trailed down, gliding over her curves to rest between her legs.

Robert kissed her cheeks, the delicate jut of her jaw, her throat, before murmuring. "I still think I should ease you into all this. Tell me if it's too much, darling…." He began moving his fingers gently over her, working to build a slow heat between her thighs. His other arm slid under her shoulders, holding her against his chest as she clung to his arm, her eyes wide with surprise, with delight, with awe. She gasped and her hips bucked against his hand.

"Robert," she squeaked, her head tilting back and her back arching up, her eyes closing tightly. He took the opportunity to suck the sensitive skin of her neck gently, as his fingers continued to bring her to the edge of ecstasy – and then over. She gasped multiple times, and he grinned to himself.

"Oh," she said, licking her lips and staring up at him once she'd stilled. "Oh," she repeated. "Goodness, I don't –" She sat up abruptly and fastened her lips to his, kissing him with a renewed fervor.

Taking this as a sign of praise, Robert bent her back against the pillows again. After a thoroughly satisfactory – and highly exciting kiss – he brushed her hair back from her face and gazed down at her. "Now – now is something a bit different, and may be somewhat uncomfortable for you at first. You can still tell me to go." He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, his countenance loving.

"No. Don't go." Cora placed her hand over his on her cheek. She blushed, but held his hand firmly. "Please, I want you to stay, Robert."

Nodding, Robert pressed her hand and then placed a long, lingering kiss upon her lips as he moved above her, settling between her thighs, sighing against her lips as he felt her legs wrap around his waist. He kept his weight as much as possible upon his right arm, twisting her hair around his fingers. Ending the kiss, he smiled reassuringly at her, holding her gaze as he slowly, deliberately, pushed into her, watching her to be sure she was alright. She closed her eyes and appeared to be holding her breath. Once he'd gotten to a certain point, he brought his left hand up to cup her cheek. Cora's lashes blinked open and she gave him a soft smile. He continued and then paused, bending down to kiss her again.

"Alright?" he inquired.

"Yes," she replied, reaching her hands up to connect at the nape of his neck, stroking his hair there. "Yes. It's – well, it's different," she admitted nervously.

"I'll be gentle, my love. I want to give you pleasure." He ran his thumb over her cheekbone.

"I know, darling. I know." She smiled up at him, her fingers weaving a magic spell against his hair.

"I have to move now, Cora. Tell me if you're uncomfortable, sweetheart." Robert brushed his hand through her hair again, and, at her nod, he cautiously began moving against her. Before long, as soon as he could tell she'd gotten used to his motion and weight, he slipped his hand between them and fondled her just above her joining. At her sharp intake of breath, the way her eyes snapped open, he knew he'd found just the right place to drive her wild.

Cora bit her lip and closed her eyes tightly shut once more. Guttural noises escaped the back of her throat, and Robert couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite so turned on by her reactions to his attentions. He feared he wouldn't last long enough to give her more than one more release before he'd have his own. He realized how much time it had been since they'd been together, but still, he wanted to give her a better impression of how it was – could be – between them. However, as she began to writhe below him, her head arching back again as she began convulsing around him, he thought that perhaps, for now, twice might be enough for her to take in.

As intent as he was upon her reactions and pleasure, as much as he'd endeavored to withhold his own, Robert became keenly aware that he was panting, his heart racing as well. As her legs clamped around his waist, he let out a low groan. "Cora," he murmured, dipping his head down to kiss her as he thrust into her several more times. Then he stilled, but continued to kiss her, whispering "I love you" against her lips and doing his best to keep his weight carefully balanced upon his right arm, even as his muscles shook from exertion.

"Robert, darling," she breathed, "I – oh my." She blinked up at him, her lips curving up into a grin.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he teased, finally able to collect himself enough to gather her up and lever them onto their sides, his arms wrapping more firmly around her back.

"Oh, you should." Her eyes twinkled at him. "Was – was it like that before? The first time?"

He grew serious. "No, not quite." Robert tightened his arms about her. "It was far more awkward, and, like I said, I had to hurt you." His brow furrowed, and he whispered, "I didn't hurt you this time, did I?"

"No," she replied, touching his cheek tenderly. "Quite the opposite, my love." She gave a small yawn, then giggled. "I apologize. I'm sleepy after all that excitement."

"As you should be," he acknowledged, smiling. He reached his arm down and pulled the bedclothes up over them both. "May I sleep in your arms tonight, Cora?"

"Just try to leave these arms, Robert," she said teasingly, returning his smile. She slid her arms under his and pressed him against her with a soft, contented sigh.

With one last kiss to her lips, Robert rested his head down upon Cora's chest and fell fast asleep, like a man who had finally found his way home.


	11. For our future

The first thing Robert saw when he woke was Cora's face. The corners of her lips turned up in a soft smile, and her eyes affixed to his immediately.

"Cora," he breathed, smiling and tightening his arms around her.

She lifted a hand to thread her fingers into his hair at his temple. "Good morning."

"Have you been awake long?"

Her eyes flicked down to where his hand began stroking over her arm lightly. She shook her head. "No, not very long. But enough to watch you sleep a while. You looked very peaceful."

"Well – I got to spend the night in your arms, my love."

"Oh, Robert." Her smile widened, and she moved her other hand to where her wedding ring rested against his chest. "You really kept my rings around your neck this whole time?" she whispered.

"Yes." Robert closed his eyes, giving a low hum of pleasure at her fingers in his hair and between the ring and his chest.

"I'm truly sorry, Robert. For hurting you so." Her voice caught.

Looking at her again, he caressed her cheek. "Perhaps I can see it as penance. For having hurt you more than I probably even realize when we were first married. Even if you don't remember. And perhaps that's the blessing too."

She returned the small smile on his face with one of her own. After a few moments in silence, Cora's expression changed to one of slight chagrin and she averted her eyes. "May I ask you something?"

"Anything, Cora." He continued to trace his thumb tenderly over her cheekbone.

Her eyes met his again. "Why don't we have any children?"

Robert took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then shook his head a bit. "I honestly don't know." The subject was often a painful one for them, particularly since his mother kept dropping heavy hints – and sometimes more than hints – that something was wrong with Cora. "It's not for lack of trying."

Cora's low chuckle took him by surprise. She grew sober after seeing his uplifted eyebrow. "I apologize. My amusement is apparently misplaced."

He smiled at her and moved his hand from her cheek to her hair, coiling and uncoiling the locks around his fingers. "No, it's alright. It is a _little_ amusing. It's simply a sore point at times – especially with my mother."

"I'm sure it would be." She sighed. "What about your sister, Rosamund? They don't have children, do they?" He shook his head. "And how long have they been married?"

"A little over a year," he answered, still twisting her tresses around his fingers distractedly.

"What about Henry and Margaret? They don't have children. You said they honeymooned at the same time we did, didn't you?" Cora slid her hand down to rest on his neck, her thumb gliding back and forth over his jawline.

"Yes. They married about a month before we did."

"Then perhaps, sometimes, it simply takes a while. The best thing is not to worry too much. I know we're supposed to 'produce an heir,'" she said, pronouncing the last part in an exaggerated voice, "but maybe, for a while, knowing our situation, it was better that we had time – and will have at least some time now – to know one another. To learn how to love one another." She smiled at him.

"So often, darling, you know just what to say to make me feel better about things." He leaned forward and kissed her, softly and tenderly, then he settled back again with a smile.

"I'm glad I haven't lost that ability then. And we'll have children. When it's time," she assured him, her voice low and caressing.

Robert's heart constricted slightly. It was something she couldn't know, but he loved that she wanted to be reassuring. Feeling the need for a subject change, and realizing how bright the room had gotten while they'd talked, he twisted his head enough to see the clock. "Cora, won't it be time for Banks soon?"

She shook her head and grinned. "I'm on holiday, Robert. I told her to come up an hour later than usual." Her grin became somewhat pinched, and she lowered her eyes. "Besides, I'd been sleeping more, while I was so melancholy."

Slipping his fingers beneath her chin, he kissed her briefly. "Well, there's no need to be melancholy now." She looked at him again, her face brightening. "So you're saying we have over an hour here together still, if we want it?"

Nodding slowly, her grin widening, she said, "That's right. What _shall_ we do with all that time?" She waggled her eyebrows, making him laugh.

"Memories or not, you're really no different, Cora," Robert whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek. "But I had thought we could make plans. Should we go back to London, Downton? Or should we stay here a while?"

"Isn't there time to talk about that later?" she murmured, running her fingers along his chest now. "We can talk about that anywhere, darling. But this…." She paused to crush her lips to his, slipping her other hand behind his head to press him closer. After a few moments, she ended the kiss and pulled him closer, her breath warm upon his ear. "This we can only do in private."

"Well, since you put it that way…." Robert turned his head slightly to nibble on her earlobe, thrusting his hand more deeply into her hair, happy to hear her noises of appreciation.

While Robert leisurely trailed his lips and tongue down her neck and over her collar bone, Cora explored every inch of his chest with her hands, apparently with the intent of discovering not only the feel of his skin and dark curls, but also how to touch him most effectively. He enjoyed her attentions, but without losing his concentration. However, when she brushed delicate fingers over his nipples, he let out a moan into the curve of her neck. Giving a low chuckle, she repeated the action, then circled her fingers around and over them continuously.

Robert lifted his head from her throat, his breathing having become much heavier, and looked at her. She watched her own fingers, her eyes darkening, evidently fascinated with how his nipples had hardened at her touch. Finally aware that his gaze was upon her, she lifted her eyes. Then she grinned mischievously, beginning to alternate gentle passes of her fingers and ones with much more pressure. This different sensation evoked another deep groan from Robert, and caused him to close his eyes.

"Minx," he whispered, near to panting now. Unable to take it anymore, he suddenly leaned forward and kissed her, thrilled when she immediately slipped her arms around to his back and grazed her hands up and down. As the kiss deepened, Cora's hands pressed into his skin, following the ripple of muscle of his shoulders, the curve of his spine.

Continuing to kiss her with growing fervor, Robert's fingers glided down over her shoulder, her arm, then over her hip and to her behind. When he cupped her more deliberately, pulling her closer, she gasped into his mouth and then hummed with delight. His other hand twisted into her hair, caressing the back of her head.

"Robert," she murmured against his lips as they paused for air. "Robert I don't want you to hurt that shoulder any more. We can't do what we did last night."

Pulling back a little, he stared at her. "But, then what –?" He was already in a state, and her pronouncement not only disappointed, but confused him.

Cora smiled. "I only meant," she said in a low voice, leaning forward to put her lips to his ear, "that you should be the one reclining against the pillows this time, darling." A low laugh escaped her throat. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

"Well, I wouldn't say I was 'alarmed,'" Robert said, chuckling and feeling a frisson of excitement when she wrapped her lips around his earlobe. "Do you require instruction, sweetheart?"

"No," she breathed into the sensitive skin under his ear. "I've done my reading."

As she reached one of her hands down and wrapped her fingers around his arousal, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence, Robert closed his eyes once more, and tilted his head to the side, giving her better access to his neck. "Evidently," he remarked, kneading his fingers into her behind and letting her do as she wished, awash in bliss.

For many delicious moments, Cora continued her ministrations, until Robert's need for her became acute. "Darling," he whispered, "might we…?" He let out another deep groan as her fingertips brushed over his nipple again.

"Yes, my love, of course" she said, kissing his neck one last time before scooting back a bit and sitting up on her knees, the blankets falling away from her. She smiled at him, waiting.

Levering himself into a sitting position, he arranged the pillows and rested back against them. He grinned at her, placing his palm on her cheek. "I'm ready – whenever you are."

Cora tilted forward, her hands upon the bed, on all fours, her face close to his. Her eyes held his, and, his hand still on her cheek, he rubbed it tenderly. "Reading isn't the same as experience, Robert, so do correct me if I do something wrong."

Remembering how instinctually she'd done this the first time, Robert nearly laughed. Instead, he softened his look and gave her a gentle kiss. "I will, but I know you'll do marvelously."

Her eyes sparkled at him as her smile widened. Moving closer to him, she carefully straddled his legs. Reaching around behind her, Robert grasped her buttocks, helping her to ease herself down upon him. His groan of relief and pleasure mingled with her long sigh of delight. Once seated, Cora wrapped her arms around him, pressing her breasts against his chest and meeting his eyes with hers. "Did I tell you – properly tell you – how happy I was – am – that you followed me here to Nice, my darling?" she whispered.

"No, I don't think you did, sweetheart."

"Well, I am. Completely and utterly happy. Because I do love you. I think I have for a while. I was just afraid." She extracted one arm from behind him to touch his cheek.

"I know, Cora. But we're here together now, and that's all that's important." He bent his head forward and, just before his lips converged upon hers, he whispered, "I love you too. So terribly much."

Robert helped her move against him, guiding her a bit, but having her set a cadence comfortable for herself. He continued to kiss her until the pair of them became breathless, a sheen of perspiration covering them both. Cora had her eyes closed when Robert opened his again, and he watched her as she threw her head back. Knowing she was near her climax, Robert bent down to twirl his tongue around one of her nipples. Her gasp met his ears like a note of birdsong, followed by the melody of her sigh: "Robert…."

Managing to keep his wits about him (more or less) while she had her pleasure several times, Robert knew he couldn't last any longer, the feel of her driving him to distraction. Thrusting his hips up to meet her once more, he held onto her behind firmly, keeping her still.

"Oh God, that was marvelous," he breathed, slipping his arms up to wrap around her waist and resting his head down upon her shoulder.

Cora's hands slid into the hair at the nape of his neck, where she began playing with it, pressing kisses to his temple. "My sentiments exactly, my love," she murmured. After a pause, she went on. "But, you know, Robert, as marvelous as it is, I have to confess that I think this part is even more marvelous: holding one another afterward."

Lifting his head to gaze into her eyes, he placed a tender kiss upon her lips, then whispered, "Although you don't remember, Cora, you really are the same woman I married." He brought his hand around to tuck a few unruly curls behind her ear.

"How so?" She smiled.

Robert returned the smile, running his hand lightly up and down her back. "Because this has always been your favorite part." He bent his head forward, pressing his lips to her ear. "And, to be honest, it's mine as well. Nothing in the world is as wonderful as holding you in my arms after we've been together. Even if holding you at any time comes an awfully close second."

"I'm happy about that," Cora whispered, turning her head to kiss him on the mouth, her fingers threading through his hair, making him sigh in complete contentment.

* * *

When Robert joined Isidore and Martha in the sitting room, he met their amused looks with a sheepish grin.

"Might I share in your tea?" he asked.

"Yes," Martha said, her eyebrow lifting. "You missed breakfast, and I'm sure you worked up quite an appetite."

Robert felt the heat rise in his face as he heard his father-in-law chuckling. "Thank you," he mumbled, as he carefully avoided looking at his mother-in-law and he filled his plate with sandwiches and cakes. Pouring himself a cup of tea, he took his cup and plate to a chair and sat down.

"So, things seem to be going well between you and Cora?" Martha inquired, her voice full of amusement.

Feeling his face go even redder, Robert nearly choked on his tea.

"Martha, don't tease the poor man," Isidore chastised, but his mustache twitched. "Robert, we hadn't realized the walls were so thin. We might actually owe _you_ an apology. Perhaps we made it difficult for the two of you to sleep?"

Robert raised his head in time to see the pair exchange a saucy glance. _Dear lord_, he thought. "Er," he muttered. "Um, ahem…." He coughed, embarrassed.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Robert," Martha said. "The two of you are married, you've been apart for a while, and I had a feeling neither of you could resist, being in the same room together," she explained, eyeing him in a very particular way. Robert remembered that Martha had told her daughter that they'd been together before their wedding – had been there when his mother accused Cora of having been with someone else, in fact, forcing him to confess to the deed – but he realized that Isidore had probably not been told.

"Well," he answered, unsure what else to say. He drank some tea.

Isidore reached for a sandwich, letting out an "ouch!" when Martha smacked his hand. "You _had_ breakfast! Robert didn't." She took the sandwich he'd wanted and began eating it herself.

"What about you?" he asked, chagrined. "Didn't you have breakfast?"

Martha huffed. "No. I don't know what the French are thinking. _That_ was not breakfast."

Robert almost laughed aloud. Then Isidore, rubbing his hand, turned to his son-in-law. "Well, I think it's wonderful that you and my princess are getting along so well, Robert. Do you know if you'll stay in Nice or not?"

Shaking his head, Robert smiled at Isidore. "No, sir. We haven't discussed it. We, er, became distracted this morning."

"I'll say." Martha snorted

Sure that his face was red as a tomato, Robert didn't answer, but returned his attention to his plate; he was, in fact, ravenous.

"Now Martha, stop that. You're making him uncomfortable." Isidore turned a smile upon his son-in-law. "Well, whenever you decide to have the wedding, you can count on Martha and me to be there. I will be even more delighted to walk my daughter down the aisle to marry the man she loves."

"Thank you, Isidore," Robert replied, smiling back. "I think perhaps sometime in January? I don't want to rush her; I want her to have the wedding she wants."

"We appreciate that, Robert. We appreciate everything you've been doing to make Cora feel less like a fish out of water with her memory loss." Isidore kept glancing at the sandwiches.

"Yes, well, it's only what I've wanted to do – to make her more comfortable. How disconcerting and fearful it must be not to remember over two years of your life. I'm not sure I could have handled it half so well as she has." Robert shook his head and bit into a cake.

He saw Martha and Isidore exchange another glance. "Well," Martha said, "she's handled it alright around others. But around us…." She held her husband's gaze.

"It's been very difficult for her, Robert. Perhaps more so than you realize. She – she keeps it from you because she fears hurting you. She knows it's not your fault, what happened." Isidore tore his eyes from Martha's to settle upon his son-in-law's face.

Suddenly, Robert lost his appetite. Placing the still half-full plate on the table next to him, he queried, "Oh?"

"She's better now, I think," Isidore said with a shrug and a smile. "How bright she was yesterday after you showed up…. We haven't seen her quite so happy since we arrived in London. Except, possibly, the night of Lady Mann's ball, when you came to escort her."

Robert nodded, somewhat relieved. "I'm glad for that, then. More than you know." He sipped his tea thoughtfully.

In a few moments, Cora opened her door. Her eyes met his immediately, and a pretty rose sprang into her cheeks. She grinned and lowered her lashes when he smiled at her.

"Princess," Isidore said, jumping up – and grabbing a sandwich in a stealthy move that still did not escape his wife's attention. Kissing his daughter's cheek, he asked, "Did you have a good breakfast?"

"Yes, because it would be a waste of breath to ask her if she enjoyed her morning otherwise," Martha muttered not quite under her breath, smirking at Robert.

Chuckling because he was getting used to Martha's sarcastic remarks finally, Robert rose as well, walking over to give Cora a kiss on the cheek. "Would you like some tea, darling?"

"I would, Robert, thank you. And, Poppa, I did have a good breakfast. There's something decadent about having chocolate croissants in bed…."

As he handed her a cup of tea, Robert lowered his voice and said, "We'll find the cook a recipe and you can have them anytime you like, Cora."

She grinned and blushed again, sipping her tea.

"So, what are you young folks going to do today?" Isidore asked, sneaking another sandwich, which Martha allowed, since Robert seemed to have stopped eating.

"Cora?" Robert turned to her. "What would you like to do?"

"We should make plans, Robert. So, perhaps a walk? A stroll around Nice. We haven't been here very long, and I'd love to walk around a bit." She raised an expectant face to him.

"Then that's what we'll do. I know this excellent little restaurant, and we can go there for luncheon. How does that sound?"

"It sounds lovely. Momma, Poppa, is that alright?" Cora looked at her parents.

"Of course it is, Cora. Your poppa and I will find something to do, I'm sure. Won't we, Isidore?"

At Martha's wink to her husband and his answering chuckle, Robert rolled his eyes. It was fortunate he and Cora weren't going to be anywhere near the suite that afternoon.

* * *

After having spent a very pleasant late morning wandering around Nice, Robert steered Cora toward the restaurant and settled with her there, taking her hand while they waited for their meal to be served.

"Perhaps now we can make our plans, my darling," Robert said, smiling. "I said something to your father earlier about the possibility of having our wedding in January."

"Robert," Cora intoned softly, "I don't really need a wedding. It's an imposition, isn't it?"

Shaking his head, Robert drew his brows together. "No, of course it's not an imposition, Cora. Don't you _want_ a wedding?"

She took a deep breath and pressed his hand. "I do want a wedding. I do. But our friends, the people where you live – won't they be confused and wondering what's gotten into us?"

"Cora, most of our friends know what's happened; we can count on them. My family knows. The county – well, true, they've already welcomed you once, but I'm sure they can be persuaded to do so again." He gave her a small smile.

"But, Robert, do the people in the county even like me? I must have been such a disappointment to them, to your parents; I'm American." She paused while the waiter served more wine. "What on earth made you marry me? You already admitted you didn't love me. It couldn't have been easy to convince your family."

Robert closed his eyes briefly. He knew this would come up at some point. He was loath to tell her the truth, but couldn't bear to lie to her. She deserved to know what had happened. Opening his eyes, he fastened them upon hers. "Cora," he began seriously, "you have to know that I am deeply ashamed of the reason I married you."

Her eyes widened, but she kept hold of his hand. "Oh. I see. My money."

He nodded, blinking back tears at the memories that flooded him. "Yes. I married you for your money. But, truly, Cora, even before I knew that you were the only one who could save Downton – among all the other choices, I'd already decided upon you." He ran his thumb over hers. "You were the one who made me laugh, who made me smile in a way I didn't know I could, who tempered me. I already wanted you. Before I _had_ to marry you, I _wanted_ to marry you. Mama couldn't stand it, but Papa was taken with you the first time he met you." He smiled widely at the memory. "He supported me, as did Rosamund. And, despite having to disappoint my mother, I asked you to marry me. And you said yes." Picking up her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "And I thank God every single day that you did. And not because of your money."

Cora's eyes glittered with tears. "Robert, it's alright. At least, it turned out alright, didn't it? You love me, and of course I see why I fell so hard for you." She chuckled. "Do you remember that dance card? The one I found in my book?"

Smiling at her, Robert nodded again. "Yes, I do." He laughed. "I couldn't believe you wanted to dance with me that night. I was a complete fool, stammering and stuttering and not even remembering to tell you my name. Perhaps, my dear, I was already head over heels, it simply took me far too many months to recognize it."

"Perhaps," she whispered. "But I understand now what possessed me to write 'Prince Charming' for your name." Cora smiled softly at him.

"Do you? I'm glad of that, sweetheart, I really am. And that I could charm you a second time. Because I don't know what I would have done had you decided to go back to America." He paused before adding, "Either time, to be honest."

"Oh, Robert," she sighed, squeezing his hand. "We don't have to worry about that anymore. We can simply make plans now. For our future."

"Yes, darling. For our future." He kissed each of her hands in turn just before the waiter returned with their first course.

Over luncheon, the pair decided to stay another few days in Nice – in their own suite, which they would book and move into after getting back to the resort – and then leave Martha and Isidore to continue their European tour while traveling back to London themselves. Once in London, they would stay a few days in Grantham House, visiting Rosamund and Marmaduke, Henry and Margaret, before making the journey to Downton. They'd settled on Valentine's Day for their wedding – Robert knowing what a special day it was for them, above and beyond the normal significance for couples in love, even if she didn't. It would give them time to plan everything, to make it a day as wonderful as the wedding day Robert remembered. He wanted that for her.

He wanted everything for her. Everything he could possibly do to make her happy – as happy as she'd always made him.


	12. Ever my Cora

Robert had thought that traveling would be somewhat lost time for them, but he was happy to be proven wrong. Where he'd been nervous and wishing the journey done already on the way to Nice, now he appreciated once more being with her – in a place where there was little to do besides talk and enjoy one another's company in all its forms. When they got tired, they would read or simply nap. And the trip – even more so than being in Nice, where there were things to see and places to go, her parents often with them – was an excellent opportunity for telling Cora the things she should know, to prepare her for when they'd return to Downton.

Besides that, it was wonderful just to be with her, and her alone.

As the carriage pulled up beside the pavement at Grantham House the morning they arrived back in London, Robert squeezed his wife's hand. "I thought I would make a reservation to what's always been one of our favorite restaurants in London, Cora. That is, if you aren't too tired from traveling."

"No, I'm not too tired. It sounds lovely, darling." She smiled at him. "I had thought that we should call on your sister this afternoon – or send a message inviting her to tea here with us, if she doesn't already have an engagement."

"That's a good idea, my dear." He helped her out of the carriage and drew her arm through his as they walked up to the house. "I'll have one of the footmen take a message to her this morning, to invite her."

"I would like to see her – some other day if she can't come by today. Rosamund has been very kind to me." Cora pressed his arm tighter to herself.

Robert chuckled. "You're one of the few people to whom she is completely kind, in fact. You have no idea how grateful I am to her for that." They broke apart to give their outer garments to the butler. "Will you go up for a rest now? Or should I have some tea put in the drawing room for us?"

"I think I'll go up and rest a while. I want to be wide awake later. For our evening together." With a face full of mirth, she kissed his cheek and headed for the staircase. "Come wake me for luncheon?"

Robert nodded and watched her sashay away from him. He grinned and then went into the library after she was out of his sight. Sitting down to write a note to Rosamund, he thought about how grateful he was – for his sister and for having Cora back again, that she loved him.

There was a lot for which to be thankful.

* * *

After a day of resting and having Rosamund for tea, Robert waited for his wife at the bottom of the stairs, pacing a bit, as she seemed to be taking longer than usual. At the rustling of a skirt from the landing, he looked up and blinked at the sight that met him. Cora had on a new emerald green evening gown, a narrow emerald and diamond diadem encircling her dark curls and the scarab earrings dangling from her ears. She looked….

"Magnificent," he said, grinning at her as she finished her descent and held her hand out to him. Taking it, he kissed it and clasped it tightly. "You do look magnificent, Cora. I love this color on you. For more reasons than you know."

"Perhaps you'll tell me over dinner." Her eyes sparkled at him.

Robert chuckled. "I'm not sure it's appropriate dinner conversation, to be honest." He felt heat rise in his cheeks.

Cora stepped closer and kissed his cheek before whispering, "Then after dinner, maybe?"

"We'll see," he murmured. "For now, we should be on our way."

He led her to the foyer where they drew on coats, then out the door to their waiting carriage. As they got in and were on their way to the restaurant, myriad wonderful memories flooded Robert's mind – of their first Valentine's Day together, and how they'd gone to this same restaurant… and all that had followed after. He just wished she could remember too.

But if she couldn't – then he would help make even more wonderful memories for her.

In the carriage, he held her hand, and they laughed together again at a story Rosamund had told them earlier. And when they arrived, Robert helped Cora out of the carriage and escorted her inside, as proud as he'd ever been to have such an exquisite creature on his arm.

The table was the same one. Robert couldn't believe they'd been seated in the same place. He ordered duck for them, and they had champagne. At least Cora didn't drink it so quickly this time (although, he would admit to smiling as he remembered the result that night), and so he could enjoy her more subtle glances and smiles.

At her request, Robert disclosed a few more memories of theirs, still saving the story behind the green scarf for a more intimate setting. Several times, she appeared to pause, staring at some point behind him, her expression puzzled. Just before Robert could stop to ask her what was wrong, Cora would give her head a little shake and turn her eyes back to his with a warm smile.

After she'd done this a number of times, Robert took her hand across the table with some concern. "Are you alright, Cora? You seem a bit distracted."

She smiled her sweet smile at him. "No, darling. I'm fine. More than fine, to be honest. Being here with you, in one of our favorite places – I can see why now –" Here she interrupted herself with a wider grin. "It's made me so happy, Robert."

Robert gave an inward sigh of relief and smiled back at her. "I'm glad to hear it, my sweetheart." Letting go of her hand while the servers took their plates, he asked, "Did you want dessert? More champagne? Or would you prefer coffee?"

"Yes to dessert. Something chocolate; I don't mind what. And I think more champagne – don't you?" Cora's eyebrow tilted upward at him, her visage full of mischief.

Chuckling, Robert gave the order to the server and turned back to his wife. "I think you have something in mind for later."

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, but the mischief remained firmly in her smile. "Well, it would be a shame to waste the effects of a new dress, don't you think?" she questioned teasingly as she finished the last drops of champagne in her glass, keeping her eyes fastened on his over the rim.

"Oh, I quite agree, Cora." Robert smirked at her and watched her drink again in the same manner once her flute had been refilled. He lowered his voice and leaned toward her after the waiter left. "And it's most certainly having an effect." Giving her a small wink, he drew back and basked in the light of her grin, raising his own glass to his lips.

The rest of their meal was spent in silent communication – looks, smiles, the raising of eyebrows, the tilt of a chin, or the shake of a head in teasing or mirth. How Robert wanted to slip his arms around her and kiss her until they were both dizzy. Except – there was something inherently wonderful about this part too – as if their unspoken dialogue connected them in such a manner that they already were exchanging kisses and tender caresses, these held aloft in the unbroken electric current between them. It filled his heart at the same time that it excited him otherwise.

When Cora began brushing her foot over his ankle under the table and giggling aloud, Robert knew it was time to take her back to Grantham House. Chuckling, he helped her up from the table and to the coat check, wrapped her in her coat, and extended his arm to her once he'd donned his own. Once back in the seclusion of the carriage, Cora lunged for him, kissing him intensely and giving him the loveliest flashbacks. Then, as she attempted to grope him, he grasped her hands and ended the kiss, grinning at her.

"Soon, darling. Patience." Robert held her hands in one of his so he could cup her cheek and gaze at her lovingly. Then his eyes moved down her face to her throat, his attention caught by a wayward ringlet resting against her neck. He smiled and looked back up at her as he coiled the ringlet around his fingers. "I love how this one ringlet always seems to come loose and settle right here. Right where my lips should be," he whispered, bending down to press soft kisses to her neck.

He heard her gasp and say, "Oh!" Pausing for a few seconds, he considered lifting his head to ask what was wrong – as that had sounded less an expression of pleasure and more one of surprise. But then Cora tilted her head to the side, as if in invitation for him to continue. So he did, eliciting a series of trills from her, until he felt the carriage come to a halt. Robert lifted his head and looked at her, wringing her hands gently while uncurling the ringlet from his fingers. The way she stared at him, in a combination of love and awe and mild disbelief, caused him to wonder a little. But before he could ask anything, the driver opened the door and Robert pulled away, exiting the carriage and extending his hand up to help her out.

Leaving their coats with the butler, they started up the stairs, Cora still slightly tipsy.

"Robert?" she ventured timidly.

"Yes, Cora?" he asked, pressing her arm tighter against him.

"Might we go into our sitting room for a while before retiring?"

He turned his head and eyed her askance, as she'd appeared only too ready to get to that part of the evening in the carriage. "Of course we can. Is something wrong, sweetheart?"

Cora shook her head and gave him a warm smile. "No, my dear. Nothing is wrong. I just want to sit with you a while." She slid her hand into his, clasping it tightly.

Perplexed now, Robert led her into their sitting room and had her sit down. "Er, would you like something?" He indicated the drinks cabinet.

She put up a hand. "Thank you, but no. I'd like to clear my head, I think."

"Water?" he asked, pulling a glass over.

"Yes. That would be good, Robert." She smiled again and took the glass, drinking of it deeply, when he joined her on the settee.

Touching her cheek, he searched her eyes. "Cora, is there anything else you need?"

Cora nodded. "Will you tell me about when you realized you loved me? What made you realize it?"

"I thought I –"

"No. You said you remembered when you told me, that it had something to do with Alistair. But you didn't tell me the story. Will you tell me now?" She leaned her cheek into his hand.

Robert watched her close her eyes, a smile upon her lips. "Of course I will, darling." He set into the tale, telling her that they'd been there in London, at the Cavendish, over Valentine's Day, and reminding her of how he'd punched Alistair on the jaw. Then he related how two days later he'd gone to buy her a gift – "those very earrings you're wearing," he said – and how he'd come upon Alistair yet again and that the man had socked him in the eye.

Cora stared at him, her eyes wide, completely intent upon his story.

"When I got back to our room, I'd had some ice sent up, and you had me lie upon the settee with my head in your lap." He smiled at the memory. "I put the ice on my eye, and you read to me – from _Pride and Prejudice_. You knew I wouldn't really be listening to the words, and, at first, you were right. You ran your fingers through my hair, and, at the sound of your voice, I fell asleep for a while." Pausing to cup her face in his hand more fully, he lowered his voice a little. "When I woke, I began listening to the words. You were reading the part where Elizabeth is telling her sister about Darcy, about how she'd fallen in love with him – that it had come on so gradually that she hadn't realized it. And I knew. You read on, but I had to tell you, so I rolled off the settee –" He laughed. "I think I frightened you half out of your wits when I did that, and even more when I started babbling about needing you to forgive me." He took a deep breath. "But then, I told you. I told you and you were so completely radiant in my arms, and it was one of the best moments of my life." Seeing the tears shining in her eyes, he leaned close and rested his forehead down on hers. "And it always will be. And now I have your declaration of a week ago to add to it."

"Robert, I love you so much," she whispered. Then she lifted her hand and placed it upon his neck. "Might we get ready for bed now?"

"Yes, Cora, if that's what you'd like." Stroking his thumb over her cheek once, he stood and took the empty water glass from her and offered her his hands. Smiling at him, she let him pull her up, and they walked across the hall to their rooms. Leaving her at her door with a light kiss, he went to ring for Masterman.

After he'd dismissed the valet and waited what he thought was a decent amount of time, Robert knocked upon Cora's door.

"You can come in, Robert," she called out brightly.

The sight that met him when he opened the door nearly knocked him over. "But – what – I don't understand –" He stared at her, shaking his head.

For Cora stood in the middle of the room – completely aglow in the light of extra candles – her hair long and loose over her white skin, and – what had truly astonished him – the emerald green scarf wrapped around her and secured under her right shoulder. Cora's eyes met his, bright with happiness and tears.

"I remember," she whispered.

"You – what?" He thought he might need to sit down, but instead, he closed the door behind him and stepped closer.

Cora smiled widely, the tears dropping upon her flushed cheeks now. "Robert, I remember. Not – not everything. I hope it will come back to me, eventually. But I remember a lot of the things you told me about: when we first met and our wedding, our honeymoon and your proposal, and this. I remember this." She wiped at the moisture on her face absentmindedly. "I remember you."

Robert began to smile, although a crease still remained in his brow. "But when – how?" He couldn't seem to form coherent sentences. He kept thinking that at any moment he'd wake up, and it wouldn't be true anymore.

She shrugged and came forward to take his hands in hers. "I don't know exactly how, but when we sat down to dinner, I felt so safe and happy and loved…. I kept getting these sort of flashes of images, and they were confusing at first, but then, in the carriage, what you said about the lock of hair on my neck – I put them together with the things you'd told me. I just needed one last piece to be able to believe my own mind. And it's what you told me in the sitting room earlier. I remembered it, but you'd never told me about it. But – it matched."

He couldn't seem to speak. Blinking at her, still in slight disbelief, he simply hung onto her hands, not wanting to let go until he could be sure.

"Robert, I remember you. And I love you, and I'm so sorry for what you had to go through. I know it wasn't my fault – it wasn't anyone's fault – and you must have realized how frightened I was…. But, still, I'm sorry." She lowered her wet lashes, squeezing his hands.

"Sweetheart?" Finally able to wrap his mind around what she was telling him, he loosened one of his hands and held her chin in it, lifting her head up so she would look at him. "You don't have to be sorry for that. It's done, and –" He inhaled deeply, tears stinging his own eyes. "My greatest wish has come true. That you'd get your memory back. Not because you aren't my very own Cora without them, but because I think you would always feel like a part of you was missing. But it's not. Not anymore." Robert smiled when Cora reached up to brush tears off his face. "Darling, I can't say how happy I am."

Caressing his face in both hands now, gazing into his eyes, she whispered, "Then show me." Without waiting for an answer, she crushed her lips to his, pressing her body against him.

Sensing the hunger in her kiss, Robert complied more than willingly, his body already responding to the way she moved her hands up to thread her fingers in his hair and the thrilling friction of her front rubbing against his. He reached down and lifted the edge of the green scarf up enough to slip his hands beneath it and cup her behind, squeezing and holding her tightly against him.

Cora was no longer a bit timid or hesitant; she made that wonderfully clear to Robert when she sneaked one of her hands down between them and fondled his arousal through his night shirt and drawers. He groaned and felt himself harden at her ministrations. "God, Cora," he sighed into her mouth before dipping his head to her collar bone and suckling upon the sensitive skin and kneading her behind even more fervently.

Plucking at the several buttons at the top of his long night shirt, Cora had them pause so they could rid him of the garment, whereupon she attacked the button on his drawers and pushed them down over his hips while leaning forward to flick her tongue across one of his nipples. Robert let out a guttural noise from the back of his throat and closed his eyes, trying to let her do as she liked. But when she began teasing the other with her fingers, he couldn't take it anymore. Slipping his hands around her, he grasped her buttocks and lifted her against him, taking the few steps over to the chaise longue and turning to recline back upon it.

Without any cue or question, Cora, her eyes dark and her face flushed, her breathing heavy, straddled his hips and slid down upon him, almost immediately beginning to move – very deliberately at first, in small circles, and then in a more frenzied way. She pressed her hands into the chaise on either side of him, a sheen of moisture radiating off her skin. Robert made quick work of the knot in the scarf, tossing it behind him, then leaned back again, lifting his hips to meet her, stroke for stroke, his fingers digging into the arms of the chaise. He locked eyes with her, until she began to shudder and convulse around him, and he closed his eyes in pleasure as she let out a series of sharp breaths.

Then, she sat down upon him so hard that he felt the chaise longue give near his right foot. One more bounce like this, and the leg broke with a loud _snap_. Robert hung on to the arm of the chaise with one hand and snaked his other arm around her waist, preventing them from toppling onto the floor. Cora looked behind her with wide eyes. "Oh!" She blinked a few times and then leaned forward, grinning and placing a kiss on his lips. "I've never liked this chaise anyway."

Robert gave his head a little shake and smirked at her. "Incorrigible minx." Without warning, he levered them up off the chaise and stood. She gave a happy shriek, her eyes bright and her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. Keeping her firmly against him, he walked to an empty stretch of wall, pushing her up against it. Soon he was kissing her everywhere his mouth could reach without giving up his persistent thrusting into her, spurred on by her every sigh and gasp and moan. He paused only long enough to raise her arms above her head, balancing her against the wall upon his hips, so he could run his fingers along the undersides, worshipping every inch of the silky, porcelain skin, gazing into her eyes.

Pulling her arms down and around his neck, he bent his head to kiss her mouth eagerly and slid his hands around to her behind again, picking up where he'd left off. The fingers of one of Cora's hands twisted into his hair, and her other hand glided down his neck and over his shoulder. After Cora had climaxed several times – in rather quick succession, Robert was delighted to note – he nuzzled his forehead down into the hollow of her neck and breathed heavily against her skin, feeling though the entire surface of his skin – and hers – radiated heat.

Cora's hand wandered from his shoulder and down over his chest, her fingers grazing over his curls and seeking out a nipple. As her lips pressed to his temple, her fingertips circled around first his right nipple, and then his left. Robert moaned and plunged into her even more adamantly, the muscles in his buttocks flexing. He nibbled gently upon her throat, and the contrast of force and tenderness appeared to send her over the edge once more. As she cried out, she tweaked one of his nipples. This, together with the incredible feel of her around him, was too much for him to handle, and he pushed into her once more with a deep groan of complete satisfaction, squeezing her behind and keeping her flush against him as he panted and burrowed his head farther into her neck.

As soon as he thought he could move without collapsing or dropping her, Robert embraced his wife around the waist and lifted his head, smiling as he transferred them to the bed. Cora continued stroking his hair where her hands had come to rest at the nape of his neck as she'd cradled his head against her and taken up a happy sort of purring. Laying her gently upon the bed, he climbed up next to her, and stretched out on his back, pleased when she immediately nestled up to his side and rested her head upon his shoulder and draped her arm across his chest in her own familiar way. His arms encircled her, and he bent his head down slightly to kiss her forehead. He loved the way he could feel her heart – still thumping slightly faster than normal – against his side and how her fingertips moved in small, feather-light passes over his skin and that he could feel her smile widen as his arms tightened around her.

After a little while – when his skin felt cool again and his heartbeat returned to normal, and he'd closed his eyes and one hand glided up and down her arm – Cora spoke in a soft voice. "Robert, I wanted to thank you."

He chuckled. "For what, darling? For helping you break a chaise longue you didn't like, so that I'll be taking you shopping for a new one tomorrow?"

Cora sat up on her elbow and slapped his arm teasingly. He opened his eyes and grinned up at her attempt at an annoyed expression. But she started giggling. "Well, that's not what I was thinking of, but I'll not deny that I'm thankful for that too. Especially the 'you helping me' part." She waggled her eyebrows at him and leaned down for a gentle, lingering kiss, her fingers on his jaw to tilt his head at just the right angle.

When she ended the kiss, gazing down at him with a soft smile, Robert reached up to brush her hair back from her face, pushing it to the other side, where it brushed over his shoulder and permeated the air between them with its sweet fragrance. He smiled back at her and grazed his fingers over her cheek. "So what _did_ you want to thank me for, sweetheart?"

She took a little breath, her smile widening, her fingers still upon his jaw. "I wanted to tell you how grateful I am for how you were these past weeks. It didn't matter how much I pushed you away, you were so patient and tender and kind to me." He saw her eyes sparkle with tears. Her voice became a whisper. "I could tell you loved me, even apart from when you said it. I could read it in your face and in how you treated me."

Robert gave her a sheepish look, running his hand along her arm again. "Well, I did snap at you several times. And I came after you in London when you told me not to."

"I know," she said, moving her hand up to caress his cheek. Tears slid down her face. "But I understand why. I understood then, but I couldn't – I didn't –" She lowered her lashes, evidently unable to find the right words.

"You don't have to say anything, Cora. I know." He placed his hand on her face and gently wiped away her tears with this thumb. She met his eyes once again, and he went on, "As difficult as it was for me, I realized it must be even more difficult for you. I tried to keep that foremost in my mind. I didn't want to upset you or confuse you any more than you already were. I love you so much, and I wanted to prevent as much of that as I could."

Cora nodded, smiling. "And that's why I'm grateful, my love. It would have been much worse otherwise."

"I'm happy that I could put you ease, if only a little."

"You did," she whispered. "It's part of the reason I fell for you again, Robert. I knew that such tenderness and care is a rare thing, and I came to adore you for it." Cora's fingers threaded into his dark hair at the temple, playing with it. "I do adore you for it. Adore and love you more than I'd ever imagined I could." She bent forward again to kiss him and didn't object when Robert pulled her closer, sliding both arms around her waist and embracing her tightly.

Once they'd had a refreshing interlude of kisses and tender caresses, Robert reached down and twitched the bedclothes up over them. He thought perhaps he should get up and extinguish the candles, but he didn't want to leave the warmth of her body cleaved against his. "Cora, do you still want a wedding?" He wove his fingers into her hair as she settled more comfortably alongside him.

She was silent for a moment, and he felt the soft graze of her eyelashes against his skin as she blinked, apparently thinking. "No, I don't think so, Robert," she said. "I think our wedding – which I now remember –" She smiled and drummed her fingers lightly upon his ribs. "I think our wedding was perfect. We might have a party instead. To celebrate. What do you think?" She tilted her face up slightly to look at him.

"I think that's a wonderful idea, my dearest one. And now…." He pulled one arm away and lifted his head to take the chain from around his neck. Unfastening it, he allowed the wedding ring to slide down into his hand. He reached over to put the chain on the bedside table, then held the ring out to her.

Cora sat up and grinned at him, holding her left hand out so he could slip the ring over her knuckle and up against her engagement ring – where it belonged. "That's better," she breathed.

Robert propped himself up on his elbow and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. "I agree, sweetheart." He kept her hand in his and leaned up, smiling as she bent her head to press her lips to his.

Then he lay back again, pulling her gently with him, gratified when she curled herself up against him once more, her hair streaming down his arm, her face nuzzled against his chest, her arm across his middle. "I love you, Robert," she whispered, sighing contentedly.

"I love you too. Ever my Cora." As the soft rise and fall of her chest and her deepened breathing indicated that she'd gone to sleep, Robert held her closely within the shelter of his arms, nestled against his side – where she belonged.

* * *

_A/N: I want to thank everyone who read through to the end, and a special thanks to those who have left reviews. This has been one of my favorite fics to write, and the response has been incredible throughout. I do hope the ending is everything you hoped for and more! Thank you again!_


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